


In My Lady's Lap

by sneetchstar



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Post-Canon, Post-Series, is it really canon divergence if the show is done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-12-19 06:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11892390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Post-canon.  Rosaline and Benvolio still wish to marry, but their uncles aren't exactly on board with the idea.  Can they find happiness amid war and their families' objections?





	1. Chapter 1

Benvolio stirs, waking from a sleep that feels drugged; the sort of heavy, deep sleep that one slips into without realizing it.

He honestly has no recollection of falling asleep. He has little recollection of anything at the moment.

His pillow feels different. It definitely smells different. Better. Sweeter. He turns his face into it and finds it firmer than he recalls as well. Still, he cannot help nuzzling the soft, fragrant pillow.

His eyes open and he finds himself staring at an unfamiliar room. His pillow is blue and smells of roses.

_Capulet._

He rolls onto his back and looks up into the concerned, beautiful face of Rosaline Capulet as she stares down at him with her wide eyes.

He’s been sleeping with his head in her lap. The memories of the last few days suddenly come flooding back, but he is still much too groggy to do anything besides stare back.

“Capulet,” he eventually says, not sitting up. He is afraid if he sits up and moves away from her he’ll never be allowed to return.

“You very nearly passed out from exhaustion,” she says, answering his unasked question. Her fingers find their way into his hair, absently running her fingers through the tousled locks. “And then you must have been having a nightmare. You only settled when I came over.”

“I cannot possibly imagine why I would be having nightmares,” he deadpans, and she lightly tugs his hair. Then he finally sits up and sees that they are on some sort of chaise in what must be a spare room in the palace. “What’s going… I mean, how is the prince?”

“He is stable,” she answers. “The royal surgeons were able to extract the arrow and stop the bleeding. He will recover.”

He looks at her a long moment. “If you wish to… that is to say, if  _he_ asks for your—”

“Montague,” she interrupts, and he stops. She takes his hand, lacing her fingers through his. He looks down at their joined hands, then back up at her, giving her much the same shocked look he had just the night before, when he thought it his last night on earth. “Do shut up,” she concludes.

His eyes search her face, hopeful but not daring to hope. He opens his mouth, but words fail him.

“I have made my choice, Benvolio,” she says. “Escalus is a dear friend and I hope he always will be. But that is all he is to me now.”

Then she leans over and softly kisses him. Overcome with delight, his head briefly swims. He is just about to lean into her and deepen the kiss, but then logic comes roaring back and he pulls away.

“Does _he_ know this?”

“Yes,” she whispers, looking down.

He knows there is more. “What happened?” he asks, reaching up to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. He notices for the first time that she looks just slightly disheveled, which he has never seen before. She always looks composed and together, even during the few moments when he has seen her at her most vulnerable and broken.

He has a feeling few people have seen Rosaline Capulet vulnerable and broken, and somehow feels honored to have been allowed to be among them.

“He asked for my hand in marriage,” she confesses. Benvolio blinks in surprise, his heart leaping into his throat. “I refused.”

“You… refused… the _prince_ ,” he replies. His heart drops back into its place, thumping madly in his chest. “For me.”

She snorts a laugh and threads her fingers through his again. “I refused the prince for  _me,_ ” she clarifies.

“Of course,” he immediately responds, understanding her meaning. “He hurt you very deeply, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” She nods. “But it’s not only that,” she says. “He’s the prince. I once believed I loved him, but one does not wed the man without also becoming tied to the _prince._ If he had asked me even two weeks ago, I would have said ‘yes’ without a second thought. Now… knowing what I know, seeing what I’ve seen… all I have are second thoughts. About him, I mean.” She sighs, then regroups, straightening her spine. “Call me selfish if you like, but when I marry, I will marry a man for whom _I_ am the first priority. Not a city, not a trade… not even a curs éd family name.”

He lifts their joined hands to his lips, kissing her fingers. “I do not consider that selfish at all. In fact, that sounds just about right,” he quietly replies. It sounds wonderful, and he realizes that he, Benvolio, the unloved Montague, wants the same thing. He moves their hands and kisses the inside of her wrist. “You deserve to be someone’s first priority.” He lowers his gaze and softly offers, “You would be my first priority.”

“Are you asking?” she whispers.

He cocks his head. “Are we not already betrothed?” he asks.

“I honestly no longer know. Since Escalus asked for my hand, I assumed not,” she answers. “And since there is not political need for our union anymore…”

“Ah, but I believe there still is a need,” he responds, scooting a little closer to her. “You see, Capulet, it seems I have become quite… dependent on your companionship.”

“How very romantic of you,” she dryly replies.

Now it is Benvolio’s turn to snort a laugh. “If you would but let me continue,” he presses, and she nods. But no more words come to him. No romantic phrases or flowery words spill from his lips. He gazes over at her, allowing himself to see – possibly for the first time – how truly beautiful she is. “I need you, Rosaline,” he blurts. It wasn’t as eloquent as he had intended, so he tries again, first clearing his throat. “That is to say, I…” he clears his throat again, “you… you  _know_ me. Better than anyone ever has, I think. Somehow…” he trails off, shaking his head at the ridiculous improbability of it all, “somehow you have become my closest friend. I know I can trust you with… with my very life, it seems, and I know you trust me.”

“I do,” she answers, reaching up with her free hand to smooth his hair, which is sticking up every which way from her earlier attention.

“I find I am no longer able to imagine my life without you in it. Without you as a very important, prominent part of it.” He kisses her hand again, this time on her palm. “I think I might be in love with you, Capulet,” he finally confesses.

She reaches up with her free hand and lightly touches his face. “ I think I might  be in love  with you as well, Montague,” she replies, her fingers stroking his short beard.

He leans towards her and kisses her again, lingering over the lush fullness of her lips. He takes his time this time, fairly certain they won’t be interrupted. The desperation they felt when they kissed in the dungeon is gone, sweetness appearing in its place. Their tongues meet and he pulls her closer, nearly onto his lap, and she whimpers in the back of her throat.

That small noise brings Benvolio back to reality, and he gently pulls away. “Will you still marry me, Rosaline? Not for the city, but for ourselves?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes, I will.”

xXx

“You are not marrying that Montague.” Lord Sylvestro Capulet glowers down at Rosaline two days later, when she tells him they still intend to marry.

“What?” she replies, dumbstruck. It’s bad enough that Benvolio insisted upon joining the fighting, but now she has _this_ weighing on her as well.

“It is not longer an advantageous match. The city is at war, largely due to Giuliana’s meddling, Livia is in the count’s clutches, and everything is in shambles. We must find another nobleman, one from a family with something to offer, with whom to match you,” he says, pacing. Then he suddenly stops and says, “Did not the prince once look favorably upon you? Perhaps he might be convinced with some…” he trails off, noticing Rosaline seems to be avoiding his gaze. “What is it?”

She tries not to fidget. “ Nothing, my lord. Prince Escalus is a fine man and a good friend, but I do not think this course of action—”

Lord Capulet stalks towards her. “What aren’t you telling me, child?” he demands.

She lifts her chin. “I have already consented to marry Benvolio Montague,” she says, not truly answering his question.

“I do not care. Once all this… unpleasantness is finished, we will find a way for you to spend some time with the prince, to try and—”

“No,” she says. The word jumped out of her mouth before she could hold it in. “I will not try to… seduce the prince.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why are you being so difficult about this? If he is a friend, then what would be so awful about—”

“It will not work,” she interjects. She knows Escalus was hurt by her refusal, even angry. He is also quite proud, so if she returns to him claiming she has had a change of heart, it would fail spectacularly.

“Why ever not? I mean, unless you offended him so egregiously that he…” he stops when he sees her avoiding his gaze once more. “You did,” he sighs. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” she insists. “I simply… said no to him.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You said no to  _what?_ ”

She stands. “I think you already know.” Lord Capulet closes his eyes and turns around, frustrated with his niece, but says nothing. “You lost Juliet because she feared you would not approve of her choice. Now you risk losing me. If you even care for me at all,” she says, her voice growing defeated when she realizes he likely does not much care.

When he does not answer, she turns and leaves, locking herself in her room.

xXx

“Why on earth would you want to do that? Is this not the woman you referred to as a ‘harpy’?” Damiano Montague asks, looking sideways at his nephew as they ride back into the city. They have been fighting for three days, and have finally gotten a moment’s peace after driving Paris’ soldiers back in what could be called a tentative retreat. It is likely temporary, but at least Verona’s army will get a break while Mantua’s forces regroup.

“Words spoken in ignorance,” Benvolio says. “I did not know her when I spoke them. Yes, she has a rather sharp tongue, but when it is not directed at me, I rather enjoy it.”

“You are mad,” Lord Montague replies. “I do not know why I put up with you some days.”

“Why don’t you just slip some poison into my wine like you did my father then?” Benvolio shoots back. “And I am not, nor have I ever been, mad. Rosaline Capulet is good and true; much too good for this place,” he gestures at the city in disarray ahead of them, “too good for how her aunt and uncle treat her, and yes, too good for me. Nevertheless, she has consented to be my wife. Of her own free will.”

“Capulet will never allow such a thing,” Lord Montague confidently responds.

“Then we will leave Verona and find our happiness elsewhere,” Benvolio says.

“You would never leave,” Montague scoffs. “You have grown too accustomed to living with your hand inside my purse.”

They stop their horses just outside the city walls and Benvolio turns to face his uncle. “And you have grown too accustomed to treating me like my very existence personally offends you. Make no mistake: I  _will_ leave if it comes to it. But if I remain, you will  _not_ continue to abuse me the way you have all these years.” His face is stony and his eyes full of fire.

Lord Montague studies his nephew for a long moment. “Capulet won’t allow it,” he repeats, then prompts his horse into a walk and heads for the gates.

xXx

_Tink._

Rosaline flips over in her bed, burrowing deeper beneath her covers.

_Tink._

_Tink._

“Capulet!”

She sits bolt upright in bed, suddenly wide awake. She knows that whisper-shout.

“Capulet!” Benvolio calls again, but she is already halfway to her balcony. She opens the doors and ducks just in time to avoid being hit with a flying pebble.

“What are you doing?” she whisper-yells back, but her heart is racing and she could not be happier to see her betrothed standing below, alive and whole.

“I needed to see you,” he says, walking closer. She can see his eyes scanning the trellis beside her balcony, sizing it up.

“Don’t you dare,” she says, secretly hoping he does anyway.

He does anyway.

“Be careful!” she hisses. “And be quiet!”

A moment later, she is helping him land on her balcony. A moment after that, she is being quite thoroughly kissed, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her.

“I missed you,” he exhales, resting his forehead against hers.

“I missed you, too,” she answers. “And I’m quite pleased you aren’t dead.”

“As am I,” he replies with a grin. She gives him a weak answering smile, so he pecks her lips once and draws away enough to converse. “What is it?”

“My uncle does not want me to marry you,” she says, getting right to the point.

“I know. It seems, despite being sworn enemies, our uncles know one another very well,” he sighs. At her surprised look, he goes on to detail his earlier conversation with his uncle.

“I can’t leave Verona… not until I know Livia is safe,” she says.

“I understand. And I intend to speak to the prince about going to Mantua to see about rescuing her,” he tells her.

“You… you do?”

He blinks. “Which part?”

“Both,” she answers.

He kisses her fingertips. “I have no siblings, but I would have laid down my life for Romeo,” he says. “I understand your need to know your sister is safe. She’s all you have.”

“Not anymore. I have you now,” she replies. “But I’m happy you understand.”

“I know how you have been fretting over her situation,” he says. “And that is why I wish to find her and bring her back to you.”

She kisses him, showing her gratitude without words. “But we still have the issue of my uncle,” she reminds him, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

“Yes, we do,” he agrees, wrapping his arms around her. He feels her shiver and realizes how little she has on. “We should go inside; you are chilled.”

“We can’t,” she says. “Someone will hear…” she trails off, pulling back and looking at him.

He knows that look. “What plans are forming in that brain of yours, Capulet?” he asks.

She bites her lip. “When do you have to go back into battle?” she asks.

“Um, I don’t yet know, but if I am to follow through with my plan to retrieve your sister, I will need to see the prince as soon as possible,” he says. “Why?”

Rosaline thinks for a moment. “Escalus may be less than willing to let you go,” she says. “Given your skills in battle and the fact that Livia is  _my_ sister.”

“Ah. Yes. Still, I must try,” Benvolio replies.

“On the other hand, it would be a blow to Paris for his… wife… to slip from his grasp,” she reasons. “Oh dear, what if she is _happy_ with him?”

“He deceived her; I doubt that is something to which she would have taken kindly. Especially if she prizes honesty as much as you,” he counters.

“She does,” Rosaline confirms. She hears a noise down below and quickly pulls Benvolio closer to the house. He stumbles and winds up trapping her between the building and his body.

“Sorry,” he mutters, but he doesn’t look remorseful at all. In fact, he takes advantage of his closeness and kisses her.

When his arms wrap around her and pull her close, he remembers how little she is wearing and backs away a little.

“What is it?” she asks, her arms still dangling over his shoulders.

“You are… far too tempting a morsel,” he exhales. “I should go before we are discovered.”

She pecks his lips, a small, sly smile playing about her lips. “Good night,” she says, walking to the railing to see if the coast is clear.

“Good night, Beloved,” he replies after she nods. Then he clambers back down the trellis, turns to give her one last wave, and silently jogs away.

As Rosaline watches Benvolio disappear, plans begin formulating in her head.


	2. Chapter 2

“I hear you actually _want_ to marry that… libertine?” Giuliana Capulet gets straight to the point the next day at lunch.

Rosaline had been spending the morning thinking about her plans and avoiding her aunt and uncle. Come dinner time, it was unavoidable. Still beyond angry with her aunt, she simply raises her eyebrows. “Libertine?”

Lady Capulet rolls her eyes. “That… Montague. The one you hated. Now you love him? No. This will not do at all.”

“I intend to marry Benvolio,” Rosaline answers. “He—”

“He is a debauched, worthless—” Lord Capulet interrupts.

“And from whom did you hear that? His uncle?” Rosaline interjects, turning her glare on her uncle.

“He is a Montague! That is all the information I need about him,” he answers.

Rosaline raises an eyebrow. “He _despises_ his uncle. Did you know that?” When her uncle does not reply, she continues. “He _loathes_ him. Benvolio is a good man. He is honest and has true nobility of character, which is more than I can say for… for either of you!”

“He is not an advantageous match any longer,” Lady Capulet presses on, undeterred. “I hear the Doge is fond of pretty young women, perhaps—”

“Perhaps you have done enough, Aunt!” Rosaline interrupts her aunt before she can finish her ridiculous train of thought. “Your scheming with Paris brought _war_ upon this city! You almost succeeded in having Benvolio executed for a crime _you_ committed!” Her voice raises at the end, and she reins it in. Raising her voice was not part of her plan.

"It was not my hand wielding the sword that killed Gramio,” Lady Capulet protests.

"That may be, but the hand that did was operating under _your_ orders,” Rosaline counters. “So it may as well have been yours.”

"Why, you ungrateful—”

"Giulana.” Lord Capulet’s voice is quiet but firm and just barely edged with menace. It has the desired effect and his wife closes her mouth.

Rosaline, who stopped eating when she started getting angry, pushes her plate away and stands. “If you will excuse me, I no longer have an appetite,” she says. When neither of her guardians protest, she walks towards the door.

Neither of them see her smile.

xXx

"I am sorry, Signor, but the prince is indisposed,” Mateo, the prince’s aide, informs when Benvolio attempts to seek an audience.

"Indisposed? How indisposed can he be while recovering from an arrow wound?” Benvolio asks.

"He is indisposed,” Mateo repeats, more firmly.

Benvolio sighs. “Until when?”

"I know not.”

"May I see the princess then?” Benvolio tries.

“Princess Isabella is even more indisposed than Prince Escalus,” Mateo answers. “She is seeing to the needs of the city while the prince recovers.”

“My business is in regards to the needs of the city,” Benvolio presses.

“I am sorry, Signor. You may try again tomorrow,” Mateo replies and begins to usher him out.

“Is it because it’s me?” Benvolio asks, pulling away from the aide’s grasp. “Because of Rosaline Capulet?”

Mateo says nothing, his lips set in a hard line, and Benvolio has his answer.

He grabs Mateo’s arm, stopping him. “At least tell the prince that I wish to ride to Mantua to retrieve Lady Livia Capulet from Count Paris’ keeping. There’s a good chance I will not succeed. I may even perish in my attempt. I simply seek permission to go on this… suicide mission.”

Mateo studies him for a long moment. “I will relay your message to the prince,” he finally relents, probably realizing it is the only way to get rid of the young lord. “Your answer will be delivered at our earliest convenience.”

Benvolio almost rolls his eyes. “Thank you,” he simply says. Then he turns on his heel and strides from the palace.

xXx

Rosaline stands outside the gates to the Montague villa, waiting, trying not to appear as anxious as she feels.

“Yes?” A servant finally appears. He looks either unhappy, tired, or put-upon. Knowing Lord Montague, he likely is all three.

“I am here to see Benvolio,” she says.

“Is the young lord expecting you?” the servant asks.

“No, but he will receive me.” At the servant’s skeptical look, she adds, “I am his betrothed. Rosaline Capulet.”

The servant looks unimpressed. “The young lord is in the stables. Please follow me.”

“If you would but point me in the correct direction, I am sure I can find them. I am sure you are very busy and have matters to which to attend that are much more important than escorting me to the stables,” she says, really preferring to go alone.

“As the lady wishes,” the servant acquiesces with a slight nod. Rosaline thinks he looks relieved as well. “The stables are that way,” he points, “and the young lord will be in the last stall, attending his horse.”

“I thank you for your time and assistance,” she says, giving the man a smile.

She sees the briefest flash of surprise cross his face before he schools his expression. “My lady,” he replies with a light bow.

 _I am sure most of the servants here have never been given a word of thanks for their efforts,_ she thinks, walking towards the stables, which quickly come into view. _At least not from Lord Montague. I hope Benvolio is kinder to them._

She walks through the open doors and her senses are immediately assaulted by the scent of animals and hay, with an undertone of dung and urine. In truth, she has not been in many stables, and her nose automatically wrinkles as she blinks her eyes, trying to adjust to the dimmer light.

“Yes, you like that, don’t you? Would you like one more? Whoop! Take care there; you almost got my finger!” Benvolio’s voice is soft but distinct, and Rosaline slows her steps as she approaches, wishing to observe him unnoticed for a few moments if possible.

She sees his hand before the rest of him, holding a piece of carrot out below a large, round, black nose. The horse’s teeth come into view and he plucks the carrot from Benvolio’s long fingers. He chews noisily while his master strokes his long face.

“Yes, you _are_ my favorite, but don’t tell the other horses,” he conspiratorially says.

“And where does your fiancée land in the pecking order?” Rosaline says, stepping into view.

Benvolio turns. “Capulet! This is a most pleasant and welcome surprise,” he says. “I was just giving Pluto a little treat.”

“Yes, I see,” she replies, unable to hide her grin at how ridiculous and cute he was with his horse. She looks up at the great beast, and sees he is aptly named. She has never seen a blacker horse; not a speck of any other color can be seen on him.

Benvolio steps out of the stall and leans over to kiss her, but he does not touch her. “My hands are coated with horse slobber,” he explains, then goes to a nearby trough, where he washes and dries his hands. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“My uncle remains unbending in his position on our marriage,” she says. “I have a plan though.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. The first part didn’t _completely_ fail… all right, it mostly failed. But seeds have been sown,” she says.

“Are you going to tell me what this plan is?” he asks. Pluto nudges his shoulder, disliking being ignored. “Pluto, I just cleaned my hands,” he huffs, then reaches into his pocket and withdraws a sugar cube.

“May I?” Rosaline asks.

Benvolio takes her hand and holds it out, palm-up. “Keep your hand flat,” he instructs, then places the sugar cube in the middle of her palm. He guides her hand up to Pluto’s face, holding it while the huge beast scoops up the cube with his lips with surprising delicacy before chomping into it with his big yellow teeth.

She laughs and her hand reflexively closes. He guides her hand up again to stroke the horse’s nose.

“He likes you,” Benvolio says. “He doesn’t like many people.”

“Is that how you wound up with him?” Rosaline asks.

“Yes,” he answers. “After he threw my uncle a second time, he said something about giving the ‘demon horse’ to the ‘ungrateful child’ and that was that. Luckily, Pluto responds to a gentle hand, not the thrashings of an abusive old man.” This last sentence is said with just enough bitterness that Rosaline wonders how many thrashings Benvolio has gotten from that abusive old man.

She chooses not to ask; that is a conversation for another time. “He’s beautiful,” she says. “I’ve never seen a hose so completely black before. It is like he has been crafted of the night sky.”

Benvolio smiles at her, then repeats his earlier question, drawing her away to an empty stall. “Your plan?”

“Oh. Um, I simply have devised various means to convince my uncle to consent,” she says. “Forgive me, my love, but it might be safer if you are left in the dark on the details until we either succeed or leave Verona.”

“I understand.” Then he blinks a few times and angles his head at her. “Leave Verona?”

“Well, yes. If my uncle cannot see reason, we will leave and marry elsewhere,” she quite reasonably answers.

“Once we see to your sister’s safety,” he reminds her.

“Obviously,” she agrees. “Um, Benvolio…”

“We will take her with us if we can, of course,” he answers her question before she can even ask it.

She kisses him out of gratitude, her hands holding his face. “Thank you,” she whispers against his lips. “You don’t know what it means to me… that you are willing to… see to her safety…” she murmurs between kisses.

“I’m beginning to have a pretty good idea,” he replies, pulling her down onto a pile of clean hay, his lips barely leaving hers.

She moans into his mouth, one hand straying up into his hair. Her tongue dances with his and he is a little heavy as he leans over her, but she is heedless of everything except how he is making her insides flutter and flip.

“Benvolio,” she whispers his name when his lips leave hers and begin kissing down her neck. “Oh…” He finds a spot that makes her tingle and she arches slightly beneath him.

“Your skin is so soft… sweet…” he mumbles against her collarbone. He kisses lower, his lips finding the swell of her breast above the bodice of her gown. His hand somehow finds its way to her other breast and he gives it a light squeeze without even thinking about it.

She gasps and he realizes what he’s done and where he is. He lifts both his head and his hand, apologies falling from his lips. “Oh… Rosaline… forgive me, I forgot myself…” His words trail off because she is just _staring_ at him like he has gone quite mad. “What?”

“Do you hear any protest from me?” she asks.

“No.”

“Do you not think I wouldn’t stop you if I did not approve of your actions?”

“Of course you would.”

She grabs his head and pulls his lips to hers again, the issue closed.

As they kiss and lightly fondle in the empty stall, Rosaline slips a piece of folded parchment into Benvolio’s pocket, hoping he finds it before it is too late.

xXx

“He is going to rescue Livia,” Rosaline says, breaking the uncomfortable silence at dinner. She was very careful to remove every bit of straw from her hair and dress before returning home that afternoon, not wishing to give her aunt and uncle any reason to suspect anything.

Yet.

“Who is?” Lord Capulet asks, looking up.

“Benvolio. He is asking permission from the prince to ride to Mantua and rescue Livia,” Rosaline clarifies.

“Mmm,” Capulet hums noncommittally, reaching for his goblet.

“Do you even care?” Rosaline asks, incredulous. “Or was she simply another burden on the household, like me?”

“You were never burdens—”

“Do not insult my intelligence by lying to me,” Rosaline interrupts. “We both know we were never wanted here. Why else would you keep us as _servants_ when we have the same noble blood running through our veins as you?”

“She is right,” Lady Capulet quietly says, her voice dull, almost defeated. “There is no point in hiding it any longer. We took you both in out of a sense of obligation, no more.”

“And because of who your father was,” Lord Capulet darkly adds.

Rosaline is suddenly confused. “Well… yes… my father was your brother…”

“Your father was who your aunt truly loved,” Lord Capulet informs.

“Sylvestro!”

“She married me because she is a scheming, ambitious shrew of a woman who would rather have a title than happiness,” Capulet continues, undeterred, staring hard at his wife. “It is a wonder Juliet was conceived at all,” he mutters.

Giuliana Capulet throws her napkin on the table, stands, and stalks from the room. Sylvestro Capulet sighs and returns to his meal.

Rosaline stares, stunned into silence. She always knew her aunt and uncle’s marriage was not a happy one, but she had no idea it was _this_ broken.

“I do care about Livia,” Lord Capulet says at length, looking at his plate. “I hope the Montague boy is able to bring her home safe.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Rosaline says, not yet daring to hope.

“However, I still cannot condone your marriage to him. Even if he is successful in returning Livia to us,” he says.

“Why not?” she softly asks. “Do you not wish me any happiness? Or do you wish me to live a life of bitterness, resenting the husband chosen for me the way you resent your wife? Is that any sort of future to wish on a person, much less your own blood?”

“I must think of this house,” he answers, but there is no real conviction behind his words.

Rosaline stands. “This house can go to hell, and you both can go with it, along with Lord Montague.” She stalks to the door, not looking back to see the shock on her uncle’s face.

She quickly makes her way to her room, needing to get ready for phase three of her plan.

xXx

_Dearest Benvolio,_

_Meet me at my abandoned family home an hour before dawn._

_Your Beloved_

Benvolio reads the parchment a third time, then a fourth, wondering what schemes his Capulet has got running through her head. He knows she is as brilliant as she is beautiful, so he decides to trust her.

He sits in his room, staring at the fire in his fireplace, until he drifts to a fitful slumber, knowing he won’t be sleeping long. He dozes in a chair, not trusting himself enough to go to his bed.

His Rosaline has requested his presence. He cannot let her down.

xXx

Rosaline peeks out of her bedroom door, looking for any sign of movement or wakefulness. She looks to her right, where her aunt’s and uncle’s rooms are (they have not shared a room since Juliet died), then looks the other direction, her eyes and ears attuned to the sounds of servants.

It is completely still. She creeps out on silent feet, a bag slung over her shoulder, into the hallway. There is no light coming from the crack under the doors of either bedroom as she passes; she can even hear her aunt snoring. Still, she moves like a burglar, stealing a piece of the night for herself. Stealing a piece of her life for herself.

She is neither bold nor foolish enough to go out the front door. She slips out the back, then keeps to the shadows as she walks to the place she still thinks of as “home”.

Benvolio arrives a short time later, gingerly pushing the front door open, hoping it doesn’t creak. It silently swings open and he steps inside. “Capulet?” he quietly calls.

She seems to float into the foyer, carrying a single candle. The soft, dim light casts her in an ethereal glow, and her hair is a loose tumble around her shoulders.

She looks beautiful.

He walks to her as though drawn, and kisses her with no preamble, cupping her face in his hands.

She reaches up, takes one of his hands with hers, and leads him further into the house, stopping in a small room where she has more candles lit. She sets her candle down and, before he can ask why she asked him to meet her here, she pounces.

He squeaks in surprise, his hands coming up to hold her, to steady them both lest they tumble to the floor, not realizing that is exactly her intent.

“Ros—” Benvolio doesn’t even get half her name out before she smothers his lips with hers, kissing him with a passion that catches him quite off guard. When her hands begin pawing at his vest, trying to remove it, he gently grabs her wrists and steps back. “What are you doing?” he asks, breathless.

“I want you to… deflower me.” True to form, she gets right to the point.

He loves her for her directness, but can’t help wondering what has become of her logic. “Capulet, I can’t just… _take_ you like this. It… it isn’t right,” he replies, wondering where he is finding the will to protest. He finally looks around them and sees she has set up a makeshift bed on the floor made of stacked blankets, and, from the looks of her gown, is not wearing much by way of undergarments. He sees no sign of an underdress or petticoats.

“My uncle will have no choice but to allow us to marry if I am no longer a maiden. Specifically, no longer a maiden by _your_ doing,” she says, trying not to be hurt by his rejection.

He sees the disappointment she is trying to hide and steps towards her, taking her hands in his. He kisses them and says, “I love you, Rosaline, but…”

“Do you not want me?” she asks, and his heart nearly breaks.

“Of course I do,” he answers, his voice growing husky with the admission. “I cannot recall ever wanting someone more. But I do not want you like this. Not out of a desperate attempt to get your uncle to give his blessing.” He kisses her forehead. “Not when we have other options.”

“Benvolio, I have _tried,_ ” she says, sighing. “I told them you hated your uncle, hoping that would have some effect. I told them you were going to rescue Livia, even asking my uncle to allow me to marry you if you are successful in your attempt. Because I have faith that you will be.”

Benvolio isn’t as certain of his success as Rosaline is, but doesn’t remark upon it. “And?”

“And, I think my uncle _wants_ to allow us to marry, but he has himself trapped by his station and the expectations of others and won’t allow _himself_ to act on what he actually wants,” she replies, leaning against him. “Like leaving my aunt.”

Benvolio’s eyebrows rise, but again, he says nothing of this surprising revelation. “So your solution was to let me ruin you for any other man?” he asks, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. “I am flattered, but I’m afraid your logic is a trifle flawed. I believe that is a first for you,” he chuckles.

“I have a lot on my mind,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “The city is in shambles, you have been away fighting and are going to leave again, I don’t know where my sister is, and my guardians are being more oppressive than usual.” She lifts her head. “You will forgive me if my normally spectacular brain is a little off these days.”

“Of course, Beloved,” he answers, tilting her chin up to kiss her lips. “I will forgive you anything; you know this.”

“You mentioned something about other options?” she asks.

“Friar Lawrence has returned. We can just get married. Like Romeo and Juliet did,” he suggests.

“Yes, that worked out well for them, didn’t it?” she returns, and he frowns.

“Only because they felt they had to keep it a secret,” he answers. “We will simply get married, and then tell our families what we have done.”

“And you expect them to simply accept it?” she asks.

“I have every confidence that my uncle will not protest,” he answers. “In fact, he has not said anything about our intentions beyond his comment about _your_ uncle.”

She narrows her eyes. “You discovered a secret about him, didn’t you?”

He kisses her, and they finally move to sit, settling on the pile of blankets. “There is my clever Capulet,” he says, then tells her about what he learned from his aunt and how his uncle did not deny the accusation.

“That’s horrible,” Rosaline says.

“That is my uncle,” Benvolio replies with a sigh.

She leans her back against the wall, stretching her legs out in front of her. He begins settling beside her, but then he smirks and sinks down, resting his head on her thigh.

“Comfortable?” she asks, looking down at him.

“Your lap makes an excellent pillow, Capulet,” he answers, closing his eyes. When she huffs, he chuckles.

“When are you leaving?” she asks, her fingers lightly picking through his hair.

“The prince hasn’t given me his answer yet about whether or not I may go,” he replies. “But I would like to leave as soon as he does.”

“Then we do not have a lot of time,” she says. “And this is also assuming the good friar will be willing to marry us. We aren’t exactly in his good graces anymore.”

“Then we will make haste to find him as early as we can,” he answers.

She squirms slightly, and he begins to move away. “You do not have to move,” she says.

“You are uncomfortable,” he responds, trying to get up again.

“I am fine,” she insists. “My… discomfort is not from your head on my lap.”

This intrigues him and he sits up anyway. “You have piqued my interest,” he says, noting how she won’t meet his eyes.

Rosaline feels heat flood to her cheeks and is grateful he cannot see her blush. She looks down. “It seems my mind has accepted what is not happening tonight, but my body has not,” she quietly confesses.

Benvolio stares at her for a moment, making sure he correctly understands her meaning. “Well, there are… other things we can do,” he suggests, his voice a seduction in itself. He drops a hand to her thigh and begins rubbing slow circles with his fingers. “Things that will not _completely_ compromise your virtue.”

He is only touching her leg, but she still feels her heart speed up while warmth spreads low in her body. “What kind of things?” she whispers.

He moves up and kisses her, his lips and tongue languid against hers. “May I show you?” he asks, nuzzling her cheek before moving to kiss her neck.

“Yes,” she breathes, grateful for the trust they have worked so hard to build.

“Lie down,” he softly instructs, and she scoots away from the wall until she is horizontal.

He looms over her, kissing and caressing her, making her tired and stressed body relax and come alive.

She doesn’t even startle when his hand moves down and starts creeping the skirt of her dress upwards. When his hand makes contact with her skin, she gasps and he immediately lifts his hand.

She reaches down and puts it back.

He smiles, kisses her, and says, “If you wish for me to stop at any time, you only need to say so.”

“I know,” she answers. “I trust you.”

“I know,” he echoes. His hand slides higher, over her knee to her thigh. “Your skin feels softer than the finest silk,” he murmurs, his lips sliding down her neck to her collarbone. In all the experience he has had with various women (most of them prostitutes), he has never felt such soft, smooth skin before. He almost tells her this, but decides she likely would not enjoy being reminded of his past.

“Your hand feels… nice. Good,” she whispers.

“Mmm,” he hums a noncommittal response, his lips busily working their way lower to the swell of her breast.

His hand is very high on her thigh now, and her hips unconsciously flex in anticipation, almost as if they are trying to reach his hand on their own.

“Yes,” she sighs, giving her consent before he can ask, once again anticipating his next move. He groans when she opens her legs a bit more, further inviting his attention.

When his fingers brush against her, of course finding no barriers of any kind in his way, his head drops against her chest. “Rosaline,” he softly exclaims, able to feel how wet she already is with just the barest touch.

He slips a finger between her folds and she gasps, the feeling unlike anything she has ever felt before. Then he moves it, slowly, gently, allowing her to become accustomed to his touch.

“Oh, God,” she moans, her hips moving again.

Benvolio smiles against her skin, pleased Rosaline is enjoying herself and beyond thrilled at how responsive she is. He had briefly been worried that, since she had once wished to become a nun, that she might be apathetic to or even frigid about this aspect of marriage. But then he remembered how passionate and full of fire she is about most things and realized he was likely worrying over nothing.

But he hadn’t anticipated her being quite _this_ participatory. She is not only writhing under his touch, but has been doing a fair amount of touching as well, allowing her hands to rove wherever they can. One of her hands has found its way inside his shirt, and her soft, warm palm and long fingers are becoming quite distracting.

He moves his lips back to hers, kissing her deeply, unleashing more of his passion into her. She takes it and reciprocates with her own, giving as much as she takes.

Rosaline’s head is swimming. She has never felt anything like this before, anything so… _good._ Perhaps if her mind wasn’t consumed by how Benvolio is making her feel she could come up with a better adjective, perhaps even a beautiful metaphor or two, but right now, right here, in this moment, with his lips on hers and his hand doing delicious things beneath her skirt, the only word that comes to her is _good._ It’s so amazingly good and she wants more.

She reaches up with the hand not under his shirt, wanting to run her fingers through his perpetually-unruly hair, but when her hand gets there, his lips leave hers and he momentarily disappears.

“Benvolio?” she asks, lifting her head to see his dark blonde head all the way down by her knees. “What are you doing?”

He kisses her knee. “Something I hope you will like,” he answers, moving her skirts up and out of his way as he creeps higher. He kisses her inner thigh a few inches above her knee. “But if you do not, please tell me and I will stop.”

He slowly moves higher, carefully watching her face for any sign she is uncomfortable or unhappy. He sees curiosity and mild confusion, but also trust. Her full lips are a bit swollen, her eyes are passion-glazed, and her hair is in slight disarray.

“You are beautiful,” he says. He pauses long enough to see her answering smile then ducks his head.

“Oh!” she exclaims, her head dropping back when his tongue gently swipes against her. “Oh, my…”

He pulls back for a moment, intending to ask her if she is all right.

“Don’t stop!”

He chuckles and returns his attention to her, circling his tongue a few times before flattening his tongue and lightly lapping at her with slow, broad strokes. He can hear her breathing grow heavy and he has to hold her hips steady she is writhing so much. When he feels her fingers grab a handful of his hair, he moves one hand to slide a single finger into her.

She barely has a chance to adjust to this new sensation before she feels nearly overwhelmed by pleasure, tingling warmth washing over her like a wave that just won’t crest.

Until it does.

“Ah!” Rosaline gasps, panting as it finally crashes over her. Her knees reflexively try to close but Benvolio’s head and shoulders are in the way.

Thankfully, he immediately backs off, not wishing to overwhelm her. Were she more experienced, he might have continued a little longer, torturing her with pleasure until she begged him to stop.

But there will be plenty of time for such things after they are married.

He kisses her thigh, then returns to her side, swiping his sleeve across his face before kissing her lips.

She hums in appreciation, but then notices something against her thigh. “What of your needs?” she asks, bravely pressing her thigh against his length.

He kisses her again. “They will keep,” he says. “Dawn is nearing, and you need to return home before your room is found empty.”

“Again,” she replies.

“Yes, again,” he agrees, reaching down to set her skirt to rights before assisting her to her feet. He helps her gather the things she brought and put them back in her bag. “I will see you safely home.”

“Perhaps not all the way home,” she suggests.

“Yes, that might be for the best,” he agrees. He pulls her into his arms. “So we shall say our farewells now.”

“Thank you,” she says.

“You are welcome, but why am I being thanked?” he asks.

“For seeing reason where I was temporarily blinded to it,” she answers.

“Ah,” he comments, then kisses her. “I love you,” he breathes. “We will find Friar Lawrence in the morning. Together.”

“Yes. Together,” she agrees. “And I love you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rosaline wakes later that morning, groggy but happy. She languidly stretches in her bed, remembering the things Benvolio and she did before dawn and how they made her feel. She closes her eyes and sighs, a smile on her face.

Then the pounding begins.

“Rosaline! Wake up, you lazy girl!” Giuliana Capulet’s shrill voice is not muffled much by the heavy wooden door.

Rosaline swings her feet to the floor, grabs her robe, and goes to the door. “Yes, Aunt, what is it?”

“Why have you been summoned to the palace?” she demands, waving a piece of parchment.

Rosaline snatches it out of her aunt’s hand. “This is addressed to me,” she snaps.

“You live under my roof. I have every right—”

“I am of age and therefore you have _no_ right,” Rosaline interrupts, reading the message. “And, not that it is any of your concern, I do not know why I have been summoned. But if you will excuse me, I need to get dressed.”

xXx

Rosaline arrives at the palace just after Benvolio. She sees the Montague carriage waiting, but sees no sign of Benvolio.

He is already in the Prince’s chambers when she is escorted in.

“Rosaline, thank you for joining us,” Escalus says. He is sitting up in his bed, a bandage still around his shoulder and chest.

“Forgive my tardiness, your grace,” Rosaline apologizes with a curtsey. “I’m afraid I overslept and did not receive your summons in a timely fashion.” She carefully avoids Benvolio’s gaze, afraid her face will give away exactly _why_ she overslept.

Escalus waves away her apology. “No matter,” he says, his voice surprisingly light considering they last parted on less than pleasant terms. “I asked you to join us because this matter concerns you as well.”

Rosaline nods, swallowing hard, waiting for the prince’s decision about whether or not Benvolio will be allowed to go and fetch Livia.

“I will allow Benvolio to ride to Mantua and attempt to rescue Lady Livia Capulet,” Escalus says.

“Thank you, your grace,” Rosaline gasps, feeling tears pricking at the backs of her eyes.

“I haven’t finished,” he interjects. “If he is successful, and your uncles allow you to… marry, she will become your responsibility. She will live with you and you will support her until she finds a _suitable_ husband. If she is able to find one that will have her.”

Rosaline had hoped to bring Livia with her when she left the Capulet Villa anyway, so her happiness over this arrangement allows her to bite her tongue about the insult.

“And if I fail?” Benvolio asks, his voice sounding more confident than he feels.

Escalus’ gaze flickers towards Benvolio for a moment, then back to Rosaline. “If you fail, Lady Rosaline will reconsider her answer to the question I posed last week.”

“If he fails, I have to marry you,” Rosaline translates, her jaw setting stubbornly. “You are expecting him to die if he fails then.”

“Yes, but even if he lives, would you still wish to be married to a man who failed you so?” Escalus asks.

“It seems I would be doing just that regardless,” she shoots back, lifting her chin, trying not to notice Benvolio’s mouth twitch. “But as I have every confidence that Benvolio will be successful, I accept your terms.”

Escalus nods, seemingly pleased with her answer.

“I do not accept them,” Benvolio says. Rosaline gives him a puzzled look. “Lady Rosaline is not a… prize. She is a person, a good and honest person. She is of stronger and more nobler character than… than either of us, and that you would treat her like common _chattel_ is an insult!”

“Benvolio, it’s all—”

“No, it bloody isn’t!” he protests, cutting her off. “You are not going to be the consolation prize for my failure,” he says, his face pink with anger.

She turns to fully face him. “Then do not fail,” she says, simply but firmly.

His mouth closes, his teeth loudly clacking together. “For you, I will not fail,” he promises. Then he turns to face the stunned prince. “I – grudgingly – accept your terms, your grace.”

xXx

Outisde, Rosaline turns to Benvolio. “My lord, have you any plans this afternoon?”

“Well, my lady, I must make preparations for my mission,” he answers. Then he draws her closer to his carriage and adds, “But I believe I can make time to keep an appointment with my beloved and a certain friar we must win over.” He glances around, then leans over and kisses her.

“One moment,” she says, then steps away from him. She briefly speaks to her driver, who nods, then climbs atop the carriage and drives away. “He will meet us back here in an hour.”

“Can you trust him?” he asks, puzzled, as he escorts her into his carriage.

“Yes,” she answers. “He cannot stand my aunt, and only tolerates my uncle. But he has always been fond of Livia and me.”

“Fond?” Benvolio raises an eyebrow.

Rosaline snorts. “He is nearly old enough to be my father,” she says. “Not only that, he originally worked for my parents.”

“I see,” he answers. “All right then.”

She smirks at him. “Jealous, Montague?”

“Certainly not,” he protests. She raises an eyebrow. He takes her hand, kisses it, and says, “My trust in you is infallible, you see. I know where your heart lies.”

Her smirk melts into a smile as she realizes that he really _is_ as charming as his reputation suggests. She will just choose to ignore exactly where he earned that reputation, since he has sworn off his former bad habits.

The carriage comes to a stop, and they exit, making their way to the modest chapel on the edge of town.

xXx

“No.”

“Please, Friar, I promise you we will never bother you again,” Benvolio pleads. As expected, the friar was less than pleased with their appearance and barely heard their request before refusing.

“One, you have no witnesses. And two, the last time I did this, the bride and groom – and several others – wound up dead, and now the city is at war,” Friar Lawrence insists.

“I can get a witness,” Benvolio says. “My driver is outside with the carriage. And… Rosaline and I are not Romeo and Juliet.”

“I cannot, in good conscience, marry you. It is just… too much secrecy. Once was one time too many,” Lawrence replies.

“We are not doing this in secret,” Rosaline says, squeezing Benvolio’s hand. “We have every intention of telling our families. _After_ we are married.”

The friar carefully regards both of them for a moment. “So not secret, but still against their wishes then,” he finally declares.

“Yes,” Rosaline answers. “Because their wishes are…”

“Stupid,” Benvolio supplies. “Stupid and short-sighted.”

“Are you referring to Lord Montague or Lord Capulet?” Lawrence asks.

“Both,” Rosaline and Benvolio chorus.

“And my aunt,” Rosaline adds.

“ _Especially_ your aunt,” Benvolio agrees.

Friar Lawrence looks at the two of them, watching them together. He sees something in them that Romeo and Juliet lacked: friendship. A hard-fought friendship built over time with the slow developmet of trust. Not to mention they are both older than their cousins and possess a level of maturity that the young, impulsive lovebirds had not yet developed.

Where Romeo and Juliet had passion and infatuation, Benvolio and Rosaline have trust and devotion. Had they lived, the younger couple may have reached a deeper level of love, but it seems the pair in front of him are already deeply dedicated to one another. Partners in every sense of the word.

And if it angers Giuliana Capulet, the person responsible for the mess their city is in, more’s the better.

“Very well,” the friar finally pronounces. “I assume you wish to do this now?”

“Yes, thank you,” Rosaline answers, sighing in relief. Benvolio dashes out to fetch their witness.

The short ceremony has an entirely different feel than Romeo and Juliet’s. Instead of being starry-eyed and giddy, the bride and groom are serious, holding one another’s gaze as strongly as their clasped hands.

As Friar Lawrence watches them leave, he decides he has done the right thing, and says a silent prayer of thanks, hoping this act of goodness will help atone for some of his sins.

xXx

“I am going with you.” Rosaline waits until they are in the carriage again before making her declaration.

Benvolio stares at her.

“What? Surely you are not surprised,” she says.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “What I am not surprised by is the fact that our first argument as a married couple is going to happen only minutes after we have wed,” he replies, then looks straight at her. “You are not coming with me.”

“You cannot stop me.”

“I think you’ll find I can.”

“She’s my sister!”

“It is too dangerous!”

They sit in silence for a few long moments.

“You should not go alone,” she tries.

“Alone is the best way to ensure stealth,” he counters. “If I am alone, I will attract less attention.”

“And if you are alone, you will have less help if you are set upon by guards… or bandits,” she says. “Let me come with you. You know I can ride as well as you.”

“But you cannot _fight_ as well as I,” he argues. “That is my concern. I… I cannot lose you, Rosaline,” he says, his voice breaking with emotion. “After how hard we had to fight to be together, to lose you now… I cannot. I _will_ not.”

She reaches out and takes his hands in hers. “Don’t you see, Benvolio, that is exactly why I need to go with you? I cannot sit here, waiting and wondering where you are… if you are well, if you are _alive_ , under the same roof with my uncle who grows more apathetic by the day and my aunt who will find any and every way to make my life miserable.”

“But you will at least be _safe_ ,” he says, lifting their joined hands to kiss hers. Then he frees one hand to gently wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“My uncle can still have our marriage annulled if you just _leave_ ,” she quietly says, hoping he understands her meaning.

He does.

“I am not going to… _have_ you in this carriage,” he answers. “Not for our first time anyway,” he adds with a sly smile that brings heat to her cheeks.

The carriage stops outside the palace, just behind the Capulet carriage.

“Please, Benvolio. I have simple needs and will not ask you for much in our marriage, but I will ask this of you,” she says.

He sighs, then closes his eyes, knowing she will persist until he relents. “You may come with me—”

“Thank you!” she gasps, cutting off his words with a kiss.

“But not all the way to Mantua,” he finishes. “We will stop half way – there is an inn in Vigasio – and there you _will_ stay until I return with your sister.” His tone is firmer than she’s ever heard and she knows he will not be swayed.

She kisses him again. “My parents used to say that being able to compromise is an important factor in a happy marriage,” she replies. “I will wait for you in Vigasio.” _And if he never returns, I will stay there and make a new life for myself._

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I will come for you in an hour,” he says.

Her eyes widen, but she does not protest, knowing time is of the essence. “Meet me at the stables behind the house,” she says.

“In one hour’s time, Wife,” he says, kissing her once more before assisting her out of the carriage.

“I will be waiting, Husband.”

xXx

_Dear Uncle,_

_I have gone with Benvolio Montague on his journey to rescue Livia. If you actually have a concern for my well-being, I will not be in any danger._

_Once again, I go of my own free will, but this time I go with no concern for scandal as Benvolio and I married earlier today. Friar Lawrence and the Montague’s driver, Pietro, can confirm this. By the time we return I will be fully and completely married to Benvolio, so the annulment of which I am sure you are now thinking will not be possible._

_I know I did not have your blessing to marry, but as I am of age, I do not need it. I am a woman grown and will do what I feel to be the right thing for myself. Marrying Benvolio is the right thing. He makes me happy, and if you condemn me for taking the opportunity to create my own happiness, then it is clear you never had any love for me._

_When we return, if we choose to return, we will re-open my family home and make it ours. Livia will be residing with us, by order of the prince. What you and Lord Montague decide to do with your Great Houses and Family Names is your own concern._

_Your niece,  
Rosaline Montague_

She writes four copies of the letter. One she puts on her uncle’s desk, one on his bed, one in her room, and one in a book he is reading. She is taking no chances this time.

xXx

Rosaline waits just outside the Capulet stables, keeping a sharp eye out for Benvolio. He doesn’t have the cover of darkness, and she is worried he will be seen. She reaches out and strokes her horse’s nose, a tawny mare named Marigold that will be quite the contrast to Benvolio’s dark stallion.

Pluto’s massive head comes into view just then, and Rosaline smiles up at his rider.

“Let’s go,” she says, mounting her mare.

“In a hurry, Beloved?” Benvolio teases.

“I do not wish to be seen,” she explains. “And neither do you. Let’s _go._ ”

“As my lady wishes,” he replies, and spurs his horse into motion. Rosaline closely follows.

They ride swiftly for a time until they are well out of the city. Then they slow to a brisk walk, keeping to the edge of the road so they can quickly dart into the forest should they need cover.

Benvolio is on high alert, rarely speaking, eyes always moving. Count Paris’ army has been quiet for almost too long, and he fully expects to encounter his troops at some point.

“There is a stream just over there,” he says after a while, pointing. “We can stop for a bit and rest our horses.”

“And our backsides,” she agrees, following him into the forest.

They let their horses drink from the stream. Benvolio steps behind a tree and Rosaline moves out of sight for a few minutes as well.

When she returns, she finds her husband sitting on a fallen log, holding a canteen out for her. “Drink,” he says.

“Thank you,” she replies, taking the skin and drinking water he must have just drawn from the stream, because it is very cold.

“Did you leave a note for your uncle?” he asks.

“Several,” she answers, and he snorts a laugh, understanding why. “Did you?”

“Probably a much more concise one than the one you wrote, but yes,” he says. “He’s not going to be pleased.”

“Neither will mine,” she replies. “Nothing for it now.”

“I wonder who will accuse whom of what first,” he muses, ignoring the mild reproach in her tone. “If Sylvestro will go marching over to my uncle’s house and accuse me of taking advantage of his innocent niece—”

Rosaline snorts derisively at this, and Benvolio chuckles before continuing.

“Or if my uncle will go barreling over to your house, accusing your uncle of being complicit in all this, regardless of the fact that he told _me_ he knew your uncle would never allow us to marry,” he finishes. He stands and goes to the stream, where he refills the canteen. “Shall we carry on?”

She stands as well. “Yes. I’d like to reach the inn before it gets too dark.”

He helps her onto her horse and then mounts his own. “I think we’ll make it,” he replies. “It’s not too much further.”

xXx

They reach the inn just after sunset, which is a bit later than Benvolio had figured. They had to leave the road to hide themselves twice; once because of a group that turned out to be traveling merchants and another because he spotted a group of riders that looked quite unsavory and he didn’t feel like dealing with bandits.

“This is a nice inn,” Rosaline says. She didn’t exactly know what to expect, having never been anywhere, but she is pleased with what she sees.

“Yes, I spotted it when we were on the way back this most recent time,” Benvolio answers. “We never stayed in any inns, of course, but I thought it appeared clean and trustworthy.”

They dismount and a stablehand takes their horses. Benvolio shoulders their bags and escorts his wife inside. They weave their way through the tables to the back, where the innkeeper is standing behind the bar, watching over the proceedings.

“Evening,” he says, watching them with a level expression. They dressed simply, not wishing to flaunt their nobility, and look travel-worn besides.

Benvolio walks up and places a few coins on the bar. “Good evening, Signor. We’d like a room please,” he says.

The innkeeper eyes the coins. “Did you rob a nobleman on the way here?” he asks, deftly scooping the money into his palm nevertheless.

“I _am_ a nobleman,” Benvolio replies. “And this is my wife,” he nods towards Rosaline, who smiles and gives the man a very slight curtsey. “And I am certain what I gave you is more than sufficient.”

“How long are you planning on staying? You gave me coin enough for a week,” the man says, beginning to thaw.

Benvolio leans in closer. “I must away on the morrow to attend to a matter for my prince that is of no concern to you. My wife will remain here until I return, and is to be treated like the noblewoman she is during the duration of her stay.” He plunks down two more coins for good measure.

“Of course, Signor,” the innkeeper replies, picking up the coins so swiftly they seemed to just disappear. “I will have my wife show you to your room and… bring you a bite of supper?”

“Thank you, that would be lovely,” Rosaline answers.

The innkeeper nods and then walks to a doorway. He pokes his head through, and a few moments later, a short older woman comes out.

“Fina, would you show the Signor and Signora to our finest room?” he asks. The older couple must have some sort of unspoken system, because the innkeeper’s wife is immediately gracious and attentive.

“Oh, certainly!” she answers, nearly gushing. “Come, come, please follow me.” She hurries out from behind the bar and escorts them up a flight a stairs and down a corridor to a room at the very end, farthest away from the noise of the tavern. She begins chattering once it is quiet enough to be heard. “My name is Serafina, but you may call me Fina. My husband, Fausto, is gruff at first but he’s really all softness underneath. I do hope our accommodations will be satisfactory.” She finally stops when she opens the door.

“It is lovely; thank you Fina,” Rosaline says.

“Thank you,” Benvolio echoes, pressing another coin into her palm.

“You are only newly married,” Fina observes.

“Is it that obvious?” Benvolio asks.

Fina smiles. “You cannot take your eyes off of each other,” she explains with a smile. “I will return presently with your dinners,” she adds, bobs a curtsey, and leaves.

Alone in the room, which is much nicer than the one they shared when on the run the first time, Rosaline turns to her husband. “Benvolio…”

“Yes, my love?” he asks, walking over to her and pulling her into his embrace.

“Where did you get all this money you are throwing around?” she asks.

He kisses her and casually says, “I took it from my uncle.”

She pushes him away. “You did _what?_ ”

He tilts his head at her. “Well, it _is_ rightfully mine, remember?” he says.

“Does he know you took it?” she asks, torn between being proud of him for standing up for himself and worried that he kind-of-sort-of stole God only knows how much money

“Of course not,” he answers. “But there’s nothing he’ll be able to do about it. I could have him thrown in prison. Even executed.”

“So it’s blackmail.”

“Well, when you say it aloud like that… yes, it does sound a bit like blackmail.”

She studies him a long moment, not sure how she feels about this. Finally, she once again decides to trust him. “If you are confident all will be well, then I am as well,” she declares.

He reaches out and takes her hands. “I am. And I will be leaving most of it here, with you, while I am gone.”

“Ben—”

“I do not know how long I will be gone, and you will have material needs,” he presses, cutting off her protest. Then he kisses her.

A soft knock on the door interrupts them, followed by a quiet voice calling, “My lord? My lady?” through the door.

Benvolio moves to answer the door, opening it so Fina can enter with their dinners.

“I hope this is to your liking. We are but a modest inn,” she apologizes as she sets the tray on a table.

“It smells wonderful,” Rosaline assures her. “And we do not have extravagant tastes.”

“Thank you,” Benvolio adds, still standing by the door.

“If you need anything else, please ask,” Fina says, heading back out.

“Perhaps a washbasin?” Rosaline asks.

“I can arrange a tub for you,” Fina offers.

“Thank you, but I think just a small washbasin will be sufficient tonight,” Rosaline says.

“I’ll bring it up in a while, when I come to collect your dishes,” Fina says, a slight question in her voice.

“That will be perfect, thank you,” Rosaline responds.

Fina curtseys, gives the young couple a small smile, and leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

Fina returned at the perfect time to retrieve their dishes, washbasin in her hands. She apologized yet again for the humble fare, but Rosaline assured her the stew and bread were quite delicious. Benvolio finished his portion as well as the half Rosaline could not, and there was barely a scrap left.

The mistress of the house beamed under the praise, bobbing an awkward curtsey with laden arms, and scurried away.

Benvolio follows her to the door and slides the bolt into place, locking them in and everyone else out.

Suddenly anxious, Rosaline decides to hide her nerves behind the guise of wiping the dust from their travels from her skin. She can hear him moving about behind her as she stands lingering at the washbasin, but can only guess at what he is doing. She can’t bring herself to turn around and see.

 _Why are you nervous? You all but threw yourself at him last night_ , she silently chides herself, feeling incredibly foolish for her nerves.

Lost in thought, she jumps when Benvolio’s hands land on her shoulders. He leans over and kisses her low on the side of her neck, just where it meets her shoulder.

He is close behind her, the heat from his body seeping into her back. She closes her eyes and some of her nerves begin to dissipate as she allows her body to sway slightly backwards against him.

He kisses her neck again, then moves away to loosen the ties on the back of her dress. She stands as still as a statue for a moment, then reaches up and begins taking down her hair, taking care to keep it out of his way.

By the time Rosaline has taken her hair down and twisted into a braid, her dress is hanging open and Benvolio’s hands are the only things holding it up.

Screwing up her courage, she turns around and he is forced to loosen his grasp on her dress. It slowly falls to the floor, leaving her in her shift.

She stares at him, her heart racing, watching him as his eyes track down over her form.

When she becomes brave enough to lower her own gaze, she cannot control the burst of surprised laughter that bubbles forth from her lips. He had already completely divested himself of his clothing and is standing before her, naked as the day he was born.

He gives her a bewildered look, but resists the urge to cover himself with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I simply wasn’t expecting…” She casts her gaze lower again, giggles overtaking her once more as she does so.

“Not very good for a man’s ego, Capulet,” he replies, but when she looks up to apologize, she can see him trying to keep a straight face. She bites her lower lip and he pulls her roughly against him, stealing any words she might have said with a searing kiss.

“I seem to recall your ego needs no assistance from me.” She barely gets the sentence out before he returns his lips to hers and begins guiding them to the bed.

They stop just beside it. “I do not know why I expected your tongue to be less barbed simply because we married,” he comments with a chuckle, his hands fisting the sides of her shift, itching to pull it upwards and off.

“Someone must keep your head out of the clouds and feet on the ground,” she responds. Then she puts her hands over his and eases his fingers out of the fabric. Once more, he looks slightly bewildered, so she pecks his lips and says, “One moment.”

“What are you doing?” Benvolio asks, watching with undisguised interest as Rosaline bends over to rummage in one of her bags. “I think the sheets are sufficiently clean,” he adds, guessing.

“That’s precisely the issue,” she explains as she begins efficiently remaking the bed. “I am _not_ ruining Fina’s sheets.”

Benvolio blinks a few times, processing this information. “I… I am certain this sort of thing does happen, and we have given them enough coin—”

She wheels around. “I do not care. This matter is of no concern to anyone but us, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

“Of course,” he replies, deciding not to argue further. _My practical Capulet. I cannot decide if her forethought is endearing or terrifying. Let’s go with endearing._

“This will also allow us to have proof of the consummation of this marriage should we absolutely need it,” she adds, nearly mumbling as she bends over the bed once more.

He can’t take it any more, standing there watching her lithe body moving and reaching and bending while wearing a garment so thin he can nearly see through it. He moves to stand behind her and reaches towards her.

She gasps lightly at the feel of his hands on her hips, large and warm and roving. She stands and his hands slide around her waist, holding her back against his front once more.

“You are quite delectable, do you know that?” he asks, his voice low and seductive in her ear.

“It is not generally something of which I think,” she answers, leaning her head back as he trails kisses from her ear to her shoulder, nosing the strap of her shift to the side as he goes.

Rosaline reaches up and moves the other strap down over her shoulder. Nerves mostly replaced by want, she tugs the material down and it awkwardly slouches its way down. Benvolio doesn’t seem to notice until it bunches up over his hand.

“Oh…” he gasps, then hurries to assist in its removal. Once it is off, his hands are quick to return to her body, skimming over her warm, smooth skin.

She is surprised he doesn’t stand and gape at her, but a tiny voice in the back of her head reminds her that she is not the first unclothed woman he would have seen.

But a moment later, he does turn her around to face him, then guides her down onto the bed, where he stretches out beside her. He props himself up on one elbow and gazes down at her, watching how the flickering candles cast her brown skin in a flickering gold glow. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” he whispers, silencing that tiny voice. He trails his fingers up and down her arm. “I would love to sketch you.” Her eyes widen at the prospect, and he leans over to kiss her. “I wouldn’t show anyone…”

“Later,” she answers. “ _Talk_ later,” she clarifies.

“As you wish, Wife,” he answers, his trailing fingers moving from her arm to her stomach. He leans over and kisses her, then murmurs, “I may sketch you later as well,” before moving his lips down her neck.

“You didn’t bring anything to… oh… sketch with,” she replies, momentarily losing her train of thought when his lips close over one of her nipples.

His only response is a groan that is probably the most decadent sound Rosaline has ever heard. She sighs and gives up trying to be witty, letting her hand fall onto his head, her fingers threading into his hair.

Benvolio kisses, licks, and sucks at her nipples, lavishing attention on each of her breasts in turn, allowing one hand to skim over her skin, moving down her body. When his hand reaches her thigh, she automatically parts them for him.

He moves his lips back up to hers and easily slips his fingers in between her folds. “You can touch me, too,” he murmurs.

She correctly translates that into “Please touch me” and reaches towards him. Her hand finds his hip first, and she lightly squeezes it, finding his flesh warm and nearly unyielding. He hums pleasurably and moves his free hand to guide her in her blind groping.

“Oh,” she lightly exclaims when her hand comes into contact with his length. She tried not to look at it, but found her eyes drawn to it again and again. As she wraps her fingers around his length, she realizes it doesn’t feel how she thought it would. It doesn’t feel like anything she’s ever felt before, both firm and soft. The skin taught but supple, moving surprisingly easily in some places but not others. So entranced is she with her new discovery that she doesn’t even notice Benvolio’s hand has stilled and his head has fallen against her shoulder.

“Let me show you,” he eventually croaks out, placing his hand over hers again and showing her how he likes to be touched. Her hand is strong and long-fingered and she is a quick study, stroking him like she was born to it.

“Oh… that’s good…” he groans, turning his face to kiss her neck, then resumes his activity, smiling at the small gasp he has drawn from her. She releases her breath in a sigh, melting beneath him as she begins to move her hips in tandem with his fingers.

“Mmm,” she hums, lifting her chin as he kisses her neck, arching her back when his lips find her breast once again. He slides two fingers inside her and she makes a small whimpering noise; his thumb makes small, gentle circles on her most sensitive point and she moans.

He loves each sound she makes and tries to remember all the little hidden places that draw them forth. When she begins trembling a little and her hand falls away from his cock, he knows she must be getting close.

Rosaline’s fingers curl into Benvolio’s hair as the sensations begin to rapidly build, pleasure overtaking her, building and growing. She doesn’t want it to ever end but suddenly she cannot take it any longer and her orgasm overtakes her, showering her with bliss as she unravels under her husband’s attention.

His fingers are slow and gentle, bringing her down from her peak. His lips are soft on her skin, lazily dropping kisses as he positions himself, deftly nudging his knees between hers.

He moves, lowering his body and moving forward, his hands guiding her knees upwards to bracket his hips. When his lips connect with hers again, she feels his cock nudging her and her hips once again move instinctively, tilting upwards towards him.

“Are you ready, Wife?” Benvolio quietly asks, reaching between them to move himself into place.

“I was ready _last_ night, Husband,” Rosaline reminds him, a playful smirk crossing her face. “But someone wished to be _honorable_ and—”

He swallows the rest of her sentence, closing his mouth over hers and thrusting his tongue inside. She meets it with her own, kissing him eagerly and passionately.

She tears her lips away and sharply sucks in her breath when he unexpectedly thrusts into her, swiftly breaking her maidenhead with no warning.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against her lips, his forehead against hers. “I thought… that is, I heard that if you are more relaxed it hurts less,” he quietly explains.

“Well… as I’ve no basis for comparison…” she grits out, willing her body to relax again.

He barks an unexpected laugh, kisses her once more, and asks, “Are you well?”

“If you’re asking if you can move, yes,” she answers.

He moves his hips back, sliding almost all the way out before moving forward again, a low groan sounding from his throat the entire time. He does it again, carefully watching her for any sign of pain or discomfort.

When he is assured that she is, in fact, fine, he picks up his pace, moving faster and gradually harder until they are both gasping.

Her fingers dig into his shoulders and she bites her lower lip, the stinging at the apex of her thighs slowly melting away the longer he moves over her.

He bends over her and kisses her, coaxing her caught lip out and into his mouth, where he sucks on it, savoring its lushness.

“Rosaline.” Her name sounds raspy and desperate as he grunts it out, and a few moments later he drives deeply into her and stills, his whole body a coiled spring as he floods his release into her.

She can feel his shaft pulsing within her as it pumps itself empty. She smoothes her hands over his shoulders, pulling him fully down over her. She wraps her arms around him and holds his body on top of hers, relishing the comforting weight of him over and inside her.

“I love you,” he mumbles, his face pressed against her neck.

“I love you, too,” she answers, squeezing him.

He eases out of her and rolls to the side, off of her. They lie, side by side, their bodies touching, sharing comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“I’m cold,” Rosaline finally says, and Benvolio quickly scrabbles for the blankets and pulls them up over her.

She laughs and lets him cuddle her to his side for a bit. She wants to get up, clean herself up, and change the sheets back, but she also wants to stay in the safe, warm circle of his arms.

“Did it hurt very much?” he quietly asks. He’s never been with a virgin before, and finds himself immensely curious.

“Not very much,” she answers. “It was like… a sting, then a burn.”

“And now?”

“Sore,” she chuckles.

“I am sorry for your discomfort,” he apologizes, kissing her forehead.

“I am not,” she reassures him, lifting up on her elbow to look down at him. “I am not sorry at all.”

He gathers her into his arms, pulling her so she is half lying atop him. “Good,” he replies. “This is twice now you’ve followed me on an adventure,” he adds, remembering the last time she assured him she did not regret her decision to go with him.

She pulls away a bit and says, “I do beg your pardon, Signor, but I am not ‘following’ you on an adventure this time. I insisted on coming. And last time, you beg—”

He silences her with a kiss. “That’s really quite an effective way to stop your sharp tongue. Or at least put it to better use,” he says.

“Is that so?” she asks, smiling. “In that case, I feel I should remind you that I also have _teeth_ that are much sharper than my tongue.”

His eyes widen in mock horror. “You wouldn’t!”

She raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I?”

He reaches up, gently cupping her face with his hands, and kisses her with such heartfelt ardor that all she can do is return it.

xXx

Rosaline sinks lower into the hot water, which has been lightly scented with a few sprigs of lavender Fina scraped up from somewhere. She sighs and closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the edge of the tub, thankful that the small inn has such a nice, large tub in its possession.

Fina was only too happy to have a bath brought up for Rosaline, clucking and cooing over her like a mother hen once she realized Benvolio had left early and the “poor dear” had woken up alone.

Rosaline didn’t have the heart to tell her hostess that she did _not_ wake up alone several hours earlier. She smiles as she thinks about waking up in her husband’s arms. And at what transpired immediately after.

_She awoke very early; so early it was not yet light. She felt a bit disoriented and very warm. For a brief moment she wondered if she had come down with some sort of fever, but then she moved just slightly and discovered a pale hand slung over her body, nestled quite comfortably under her breasts._

Benvolio _._

_She remembered where she was and why, and smiled, closing her eyes once more as she nestled back against her husband, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable sleeping this close to someone was._

_When his hand snaked up to rest between her breasts now, she squirmed a little, pressing her backside against his groin, and discovered that while Benvolio may not have been be awake, part of him was alert. She was still very tired, but could not help flexing her hips back into him once more._

“ _You are tempting fate, Wife,” he mumbled, pressing his face into the back of her neck._

“ _Am I?” she asked, feigning innocence. She knew exactly what she was doing._

_His hand moved and cupped a breast, running his thumb over her nipple. It immediately tightened at his touch, so he did it again._

“ _Yes,” he replied, his voice a deep, sleepy rumble. “You should not tempt me so.”_

“ _Why ever not?” she asked, very deliberately moving her backside against his groin._

_He groaned. “Because you will be sore from earlier and I do not wish to cause you any further pain,” he said, pressing kisses to her neck and shoulder._

“ _I care not,” she immediately replied, turning around to face him. “You are leaving on a dangerous journey. I do not know how long you will be gone, or even… or even if you will return to me at all,” she said, closing her eyes. “So forgive me for wanting to—”_

_He kissed her, stopping her explanation, showing her he understood, quickly deepening it to show her he felt the same way. “I know,” he whispered, just in case she missed the message._

_Then he suddenly rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she was lying on top of him. She squeaked in surprise, her palms landing on his chest._

“ _You are in charge, Capulet,” he declared._

“ _I don’t know what…” she countered._

“ _Yes, you do,” he assured her. “Just do what you want. ’Tis no great feat of intellect.”_

_She adjusted her position, straddling his stomach so she could look down at him. “Clearly, since you are so adept in this area.”_

“ _You find me adept?” he asked, clearly choosing to focus on that rather than the insinuation that he was not intelligent, as they both know it to be patently false._

_She slapped his chest and moved again, unintentionally sliding over his cock, coating his length with her wetness. It felt good, so she did it again._

_His eyes rolled back into his head and he groaned. “You torture me, Wife.”_

“ _You love it,” she unthinkingly blurted, surprising herself with her boldness._

_Benvolio’s eyes snapped open at Rosaline’s unexpected words, and he smiled then, admitting, “I do.”_

_She smiled and decided to end his torture, lifting up enough to move his shaft into position and slot it into place._

_Her smile faded when she sank down onto him. She grit her teeth and lightly hissed at the initial discomfort._

“ _Curse you for being right,” she whispered, but was undaunted. The pain faded last time; it will this time as well. At least that’s what she told herself._

Rosaline shifts her hips in the tub, letting the water soothe her sore center. She picks up the cloth and soap and begins mindlessly running it over her body. Her nipples are a little tender and when she runs the cloth over her neck, she realizes she probably would have some bite marks that she is grateful will not show very much, if at all.

Still, she cannot help running the rough cloth over her oversensitive nipples another time, her mind wandering again.

“ _We can stop if you… need to,” Benvolio said, clearly hoping she wouldn’t take him up on the offer._

_The fact that he did make such an offer warmed her heart, and she began moving, slowly sliding up and down over him. He placed his hands on her hips, helping her move, his fingers digging into the firm but yielding flesh there._

“ _Come here,” he groaned, sliding his hands up her sides to guide her down so he can kiss her._

“ _Mmm,” she hummed, the new angle hitting something inside of her that felt very good. She continued to lazily move over him, their lips and teeth and tongues tangling. It was sleepy and sloppy and decadent, but somehow it was still perfect._

_Benvolio’s hands traveled over her skin, moving up and down, from her shoulders to her backside, then around to the front, where he gently cupped her breasts._

“ _Oh…” she gasped as his thumbs circled her nipples while his lips moved to her neck. “Oh…” she repeated, with a bit more urgency, and she felt him smile against the side of her neck._

Rosaline’s hand starts dipping lower in the water, her thoughts making her crave the sensations she discovered last night with Benvolio. But when her fingers finally reach their destination, she finds she is indeed quite sore. She sighs in resignation and removes her hand while returning her thoughts to her husband.

 _She gasped sharply as the unexpected orgasm shuddered through her. She didn’t know she could have one this way, without him actually touching her in that_ spot. _She paused her movements for a few moments to recover. Benvolio pressed a soft kiss to her neck, and when she resumed moving he could only respond with a grunt._

“ _More,” he rumbled, his hands moving to her hips again and squeezing. Then he moved them to firmly grasp her rear in both hands._

_She squeaked in surprise and did what she hoped was the “more” he requested, moving both faster and harder, pushing herself despite still being quite tired._

_Luckily, he came within seconds, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her down so she was flush against him, clinging to her until his wave was done._

“ _I did not know…” she said after a minute, but she wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence so she simply let it trail off._

_Benvolio warmly chuckled at her, then allowed her to roll off of him, returning to her place at his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder._

“ _Yes, you seemed quite surprised,” he replied, and she was thankful for probably the thousandth time that he understands her._

_She turned her face and kissed his chest. “I have so much to learn about… marital activities,” she sighed._

“ _I look forward to assisting you in this area,” he replied._

“ _Thank you for not saying ‘teaching me’,” she said._

_He squeezed her. “You are very welcome. This is a partnership, what we have, is it not?”_

“ _It is.”_

“ _Therefore, we do things_ together. _Partners.”_

“ _Even though you have more experience with this particular activity?” she asked, lifting her head._

“ _Well, my beloved wife, this is a first for me, too. I have never…” he looked away._

“ _What? Been with a virgin before?” she prompted._

_He curtly nodded. “I was not sure if you wished to be reminded of my past.”_

“ _I do not_ love _being reminded of it, but it is part of what makes you who you are,” she replied._

“ _I shall remember that. Thank you,” he said. “I have also never had a_ real _romantic relationship with a woman, so that is another first.”_

“ _Nor have I.”_

“ _Well, that would be a surprise if you_ had _had a romantic relationship with a woman,” he had teased, and she barked a surprised laugh, lightly slapping his chest. “Mmm, that is a sound I do not hear enough,” he commented as he chuckled with her. Then he wrapped his arms around her again in a hug._

“ _We have both had so little cause for laughter,” she sighed, her eyes growing too heavy to keep open any longer. “That must change.”_

“ _Yes,” he agreed with an answering sigh. She settled in against him then, allowing her body to fully relax and grow heavy against his._

“ _I love you,” she mumbled, just before sleep claimed her. She did not hear his reply in kind._

A knock at the door snapped Rosaline out of her thoughts. “Yes?” she calls.

“My lady, I do not mean to rush you, but have you finished with the tub?” Fina calls through the door.

“Oh…” she swishes her hands around, feeling how cold the water has gotten. “Yes, just one minute please.” She quickly dries herself off, dons a robe, and heads towards the door. On her way there, she spies the gift Benvolio left for her on the table. The single rose – Lord only knows where he got it – brings a smile to her face as she answers the door.


	5. Chapter 5

After three days, Rosaline grew bored and asked Fausto and Serafina if she could help out in the inn. The innkeepers were shocked that a _Lady_ would be willing lower herself to do such menial tasks as serving food and sweeping floors, but Rosaline assured them that it would be no hardship for her at all.

“I may be a Lady, but I am no stranger to hard work,” she unthinkingly said. Benvolio never specifically stated that they should keep their identities under wraps, but she had gotten that impression when they arrived and he did not give his name. But the confused faces on her hosts prompted her to give as superficial an explanation as she could.

“Very well,” Fausto had declared with a nod. “Since you claim to be willing, we _can_ use the help.”

“Thank you,” Rosaline replied. “Idleness has never suited me, and perhaps working will help keep me from worrying about my husband so much.”

The next night, while she is in the kitchen, Fina comes bursting in, looking a trifle more harried than usual.

“Is something wrong, Fina?” Rosaline asks, walking towards her.

“There’s an old man out there looking for you,” Fina says.

 _Oh no._ “What does he look like?” Rosaline asks, though she suspects she knows who is there.

“Graying hair, finely dressed. Tall,” Fina replies, then peeks out of the doorway into the tavern. “He was probably handsome in his younger days… could still be now if he didn’t wear the expression of a bird what was just sucking on a lemon.”

Rosaline’s lips twitch as she tries not to laugh. She definitely knows who has come looking for her now. “From what I understand, he was,” she absently answers, taking a few cautious steps towards the door.

“He has a miniature of you and another girl in a locket,” Fina adds, narrowing her eyes. “That is, I’m fairly sure it is you. A younger version of you.”

Rosaline sighs. _Mother’s locket._ “He’s my uncle.”

“Oh! Well, that’s a different matter altogether. I’ll just—”

“Fina, wait!” Rosaline says, quickly reaching out and grabbing the older woman’s arm. “I… I need a moment. He and I have not exactly been on… good terms lately.”

“Shall I turn him away?” Fina asks, growing more curious about her young guest as each minute passes.

“No, I’m going to have to deal with him at some point,” Rosaline replies. “I’m… a little surprised it took him this long, and very surprised he came in person.”

“My lady?”

“I left him a note when Benvolio and I ran away—”

“To get married?”

Rosaline huffs a small laugh. “No, we married that morning, and fled later that day. I simply hadn’t told my aunt and uncle beforehand.”

Fina’s brow furrows slightly. “Your husband seemed a fine gentleman. Why would your family object?”

Rosaline sighs again. “You may as well know. I am a Capulet and Benvolio is a Montague. We are from Verona.”

Fina’s eyes widen. “Oh dear,” she replies. The Capulet-Montague feud has been around long enough that its lore has traveled through at least half of Italy. “So he has come to try and make you see reason? To take you home?”

“Possibly,” Rosaline replies with a shrug. “But there is nothing he will be able to do about it now. It is already done.” She moves towards the door, and Fina reaches for Rosaline’s hand.

“He’s not prone to violence, is he? Because if the two of you are going to get into a row, I can have Fausto…”

“No, he isn’t. Even so, he would never publicly humiliate himself in that way. He may not have much anymore, but he still has pride in abundance,” Rosaline assures Fina. “But if I suspect he’s going to be a problem, I’ll take him outside or up to my room.”

“No, you will signal to Fausto and he will throw your uncle out, lord or no,” Fina responds.

She only allows Rosaline to pass when she agrees. The innkeeper is quiet, but tall and burly, and would likely have no trouble physically subduing Lord Capulet if he needed to do so.

Rosaline pauses in the doorway, watching her uncle nurse his ale and stare at his plate. Occasionally he pokes it with his knife. He looks pale, nearly gray. Even thinner, if it is possible to grow visibly thinner in less than a week’s time.

She wills her feet to move until she is standing right in front of him. He doesn’t seem to notice she’s even there.

“You look terrible,” she says, causing him to sharply look up.

“Rosaline,” he gasps, his voice raspy. He clears his throat and stands. “You are here,” he adds.

“Yes, I am,” she responds, then pulls out the other chair at the table and sits. Lord Capulet follows suit, and she asks, “What do you want?”

He blinks a few times, surprised at her directness. “I want you to come home,” he answers.

“That is no longer my home,” she replies. “My home is with Benvolio.”

He closes his eyes and heavily sighs. “He may not even return,” he says. “He and Livia are very likely as good as dead, if not actually—”

“He _will_ return,” Rosaline emphatically says, cutting him off. “He will bring Livia back to me and we will open my family home and live there. All three of us.”

“There is no need for that. If the Montague does bring your sister back, she is more than welcome to stay with—”

“The prince has decreed it so,” she interrupts him. “He stated that Livia was to remain with Benvolio and me until she finds a suitable husband. His aide likely has it in writing now, since he was there when the decree was made.”

Lord Capulet pinches the bridge of his nose, silently cursing his niece’s intelligence. “This is madness,” he sighs. “First you hate him, then you love him. You run away and got married _in spite of my wishes_ , and now you refuse to come home. Whatever has gotten into you?”

“I simply realized that I deserved better than the life I had. Benvolio understands me and makes me happy. He doesn’t make demands of me; doesn’t expect me to be what I am not. He loves me and I love him. And if you need proof that we are fully and completely man and wife, I can provide it,” she answers, her voice low and steady.

“I… I am sorry,” he stammers.

“Thank you, but what’s done is done,” she replies, refusing to be swayed.

“Rosaline, please,” Lord Capulet says, his voice breaking as he shows some emotion for the first time. His eyes look pained and quickly takes a long drink of his ale. “You’re all I have left,” he pleads.

She folds her arms across her chest. “You have Aunt Giuliana,” she answers, even though she knows their marriage is a sham.

He looks away. “Giuliana is gone,” he says, nearly whispering.

Rosaline leans forward, not sure she heard correctly. “What? Did you say she is gone?”

Capulet nods, then says. “She is dead. By her own hand.”

“What?” she repeats, incredulous.

“She… could not handle the guilt of her actions,” he explains. “She left a note.”

 _Could not handle the consequences of her actions, more likely_ , Rosaline thinks, but chooses not to say the unkind words, not wishing to speak ill of the dead. Even though Giuliana would not have hesitated to speak ill of her if she were the one who had died. “I am not sorry,” she says instead.

“I did not expect you to be. She was awful to you,” Lord Capulet replies. “Please,” he repeats his entreaty, even reaching over for Rosaline’s hand. “You truly are all I have left.”

“I am not yours. I never was yours,” she retorts, sliding her hand out. “Perhaps if you had treated me like family instead of making Livia and me servants, I would feel differently, but it is far too late for that.”

“It was Giuliana—”

“You were complicit in her abuse of us,” Rosaline points out, standing. “If you truly opposed what she was doing, you would have stopped her.”

Capulet says nothing, pursing his lips and looking away, unable to meet her steely gaze.

“I will show you to a room for the night, but you will return to Verona in the morning. Without me,” she says with such an air of finality that it leaves her uncle speechless.

xXx

Rosaline is up early the next morning, but immediately knows something strange has happened when she sees Fina.

“What happened?” she asks, not even bothering with a “good morning.”

“Your uncle, he…” Fina starts.

“Oh God, what did he do?” Rosaline asks, various scenarios formulating in her mind. _Did he get drunk and destroy the room? Refuse to leave? Make an inappropriate remark to Fina? Hang himself from the rafters?_

“He left something behind for you. In his room,” Fina answers, and Rosaline exhales. “There is a large box, and on it is a sealed note with your name on it.”

“Did you open it?” Rosaline asks.

“Of course not!” Fina answers too quickly. Rosaline raises an eyebrow. “I tried, but it was locked.”

“Well, how am I to open it then?” Rosaline wonders aloud. “Never mind. Perhaps it is explained in the note,” she adds, walking towards his room. “He _is_ gone, yes?” she stops and asks.

“Yes. Fausto saw to him this morning,” Fina answers. Rosaline may be an early riser, but she has nothing on the innkeeper, who is routinely up and about before sunrise.

“Very well,” Rosaline replies, then continues on to the room.

Inside, she sees the box. It is large, not quite a chest, but large enough that she is sure transporting it here must have been rather inconvenient for her uncle. She lifts the note and unfolds it.

_Dear Rosaline,_

_I want you to know that I do understand your reasons for not wishing to return with me. I do not always wish to remember that you are a woman grown; I still tend to think of you as the little girl who was much too bold and brave for her own good, protecting her younger sister from any perceived threat._

_Alas, those years were so long ago and during a different lifetime it seems._

_I know your priority is still to protect your sister, and for that, I laud you. And you are still too bold and brave for your own good. But perhaps it is time for me to adjust my image of you, see you as the strong, intelligent woman you have become._

_I know not why you have chosen this Montague as your husband, but I will accept him as your choice. I_ _ do _ _wish you the happiness with him that Giuliana and I never had. I do not wish for you to live in bitter resentment with your husband._

_You were right, dear Rosaline. About everything. I always knew you were. I am only sorry it took me too long to accept the truth of your words._

_In this box is the remainder of the bride price Lord Montague paid me when you were originally betrothed. It is true I spent a portion of it repaying debts I had incurred over the years, but there is still a healthy sum left. It is yours. I will slip the key under your door when I leave. Please use this money as you see fit, perhaps to restore your family home to its former glory._

_I know my regret counts for very little, as there is no undoing the damage that has been done. But know that I am sorry and if you choose to cut me from your life, I will not protest._

_I do love you and I am proud of you. You deserve the happiness for which you have fought._

_Your Uncle Sylvestro._

Rosaline wipes the tears from her eyes and stares at the box. Now that she knows what is inside, she’s almost afraid to open it.

_The key. Why didn’t I see the key?_

She leaps to her feet and dashes out of her uncle’s room, then up the stairs and down the corridor to her room, silently cursing the fact that she had them put him as far from her as possible. She doesn’t even pause to see Fausto and Fina’s surprised expressions as she dashed past.

She flings her door open, her eyes immediately scanning the floor.

_Where is it?_

“It can’t have gone far,” she mutters, dropping to her knees. She flings the edge of the rug up, hoping it maybe got shoved under there.

It did. She grabs it, holding it to her chest a moment before rising and scurrying back.

“Rosaline!” Fina calls as she flies past again.

“I’ve got the key,” Rosaline replies, holding it up.

“Would you like me to carry it to your room for you, miss?” Fausto asks. “If there is something of value inside it might be safer.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. If you don’t mind, I would appreciate it very much,” Rosaline answers. “I’m afraid it is likely quite heavy though.”

“Do not worry about that,” Fausto replies waving a thick hand before walking over to follow her back to the other room.

He lifts the heavy box with barely a grunt, then walks with Rosaline back to her room. He doesn’t say much during the short walk, but she thinks nothing of it, as her host is generally not predisposed to idle chatter.

She opens the door and he sets the box on the one table. Then he moves it to the floor, off to one side. “You might want to use the table,” he mutters, explaining his actions.

“Thank you, Fausto,” Rosaline says, giving him a smile. He nods and then leaves, granting her privacy to open the box.

Clutching the key, she walks over to it and kneels on the floor. Even though she knows what is inside (and has an inkling Fausto has a pretty good idea as well, considering its weight and telltale clinking sounds as he carried it), her heart is beating fast and her palms feel a bit sweaty.

“Silly girl,” she chides herself, then slides the key into the lock and turns it. It springs open and she lifts the lid, revealing what appears to be about half of what Lord Montague originally gave her uncle.

All she can do is stare at it while she wills her conflicting emotions to settle.

xXx

Benvolio has been riding all day, and, for the most part, it has been uneventful. As the sun sank lower in the sky and Mantua was in sight, he spied a regiment of Count Paris’ soldiers, and decided to slip into the forest to avoid detection.

He decided to wait for them to pass, but apparently they had other plans in mind, setting up camp just outside the city walls. He could not make much sense out of this, but decided to take advantage of it as best he could.

As darkness begins to descend, he leads his horse to a tree, where he loops the reins around a low, thick branch. He pats the great black beast on the nose, pulls an apple from the saddlebag, and gives it to him. While the horse eats, Benvolio empties out a bag, redistributing the rations within into other places.

He slings it over his shoulder, pats Pluto on the nose once more, and says, “I’ll be back. Be quiet for me.” Pluto quietly snorts, but does not try to follow as his master walks away from him.

Benvolio creeps to the edge of the camp, taking great care to be as quiet as possible. He crouches in the undergrowth, watching and waiting.

Fires are lit. Food is cooked, making him painfully aware of the food he left behind with his horse as he digs in his pockets for the few scraps of jerky he hastily shoved there.

He cannot hear much of the conversations happening, but he is not terribly concerned with talk. He is waiting for them to relax and let their guard down. Sleep.

He’s not sure how much they will relax, because he has come to the conclusion that this encampment must be a security measure against invading troops from Verona, to prevent them from getting into the city and to the count. It’s the only explanation for having them camp so close to the town. Last line of defense.

They must be worried.

Luckily, his own experience with battle tells him his opportunity will arise if he is patient enough.

And Benvolio is _very_ patient. One cannot grow up in Montague House under the thumb of Damiano Montague and survive without developing a great deal of discipline and self-control. His ability to stay quiet and wait has saved his (and his cousin’s and their friend’s) skin more than once. He may have learned the hard way, but he did learn.

And, sure enough, with full bellies and the cover of darkness, the regiment begins to relax. Benvolio still waits. Conversations grow quieter; men begin to disappear or lie down. He thinks he even hears someone idly strumming a guitar.

After another hour, just when Benvolio is becoming very bored, a man walks past, obviously making a round on watch. Once he passes, Benvolio slips out of his hiding place and gets to work.

His years of sneaking around with Romeo and Mercutio have given him silent feet; his slender build gives him the ability to slip through small spaces with a minimum of effort. Nearly all the men are sleeping, so his work is easy.

He ransacks the campsite.

Quiet as a cat burglar, he lifts daggers, carefully tucking them into his belt and bag. He draws swords out of sheaths, carefully piling them in a hiding place just outside the site to take with him after. He takes food, as much as his bag will hold. He would take the wine as well if he had the means.

_No matter. If all they have is wine and no food, they will become drunk faster._

He has to duck out of sight a few times as the man on patrol passes, but he is never discovered. By the time he slips away again, he is laden with so much that he has to take two trips to bring it all back to his horse.

Starving, he helps himself to some of the food, then ponders what to do with his plunder now that he has it. He would love to be able to get it to Verona’s men, but unless he is very lucky, there is no way that will happen. Not without backtracking, and even then there is only a possibility he would encounter them.

He scoops out some of the earth near a large boulder to make a shallow hole and piles the swords and daggers there. Then he covers them with some branches, then looks for something to surreptitiously mark the place. He winds up piling some smaller rocks on the boulder, hoping they stay there and don’t look too obvious.

Then he unrolls his blanket and lies down to sleep, reaching into his vest for the surprise Rosaline tucked there. He had discovered it almost immediately after he left, and kept it close to his heart all day. Now he clutches the silk handkerchief in his hands, holding it close to his face so her scent reaches his nose.

xXx

Pluto snorts, waking Benvolio before dawn. He is actually grateful to the animal, because he had wanted to rise early but was afraid of oversleeping after his late night burglary. He groans and stretches, tucking Rosaline’s handkerchief back into his vest, then goes over to give Pluto another apple for his good work.

He pats the horse on the nose, then takes his reins and leads him to another hiding place. If the soldiers come looking for their stolen goods, he doesn’t want them finding his horse right beside the hidden cache.

He also wants Pluto close enough that if Livia is in bad shape, he won’t have to carry her too far. Fortune is with him once again, because as he walks closer to the city walls, he finds an abandoned farmhouse, so overgrown with weeds and vines it is nearly invisible. In fact, Benvolio literally stumbles upon it, tripping over what is left of a low stone wall.

He leads Pluto to a hidden place behind the house and secures his reins. “Stay here. I’ll be back,” he says, stroking the horse’s long nose. “Or not. Either way, you’ve been great.” He removes anything that would give away who his owner is, double checks his weapons (he kept a few daggers for himself because they are handy for throwing and he doesn’t always get them back should he throw one), takes a deep breath, and heads for the city.

 _For my Rosaline. I will find Livia and return her to her sister._ He keeps his thoughts as positive as he can, attempting to push away his uncle’s voice berating him inside his head. _You are worthless. You are nothing but a burden. You will amount to nothing. Your parents would be disappointed in you._

It doesn’t always work. He’s endured so many years of torment from the man that he sometimes feels Damiano Montague will be a ghost haunting him for the rest of his life.

He grits his teeth and wills his thoughts towards Rosaline as he makes his way through the streets of Mantua, making his way towards the palace.

_Rosaline, who loves me. Who tells me I am worthy of her love. Who loves me without wanting to change who I am. Who has faith that I will bring her sister back to her._

_Who will have to marry Escalus if I fail._

_I cannot let that happen._

It is early enough that most of the city is not yet awake; the only people about are the simple folk of the city, the ones who must rise early to make a living. He is careful not to slink or appear shifty as he walks. He moves with confidence and purpose, as if he belongs there and knows exactly where he is going.

He doesn’t, but no one needs to know that. He can see the uppermost sections of the palace, so he simply keeps them in sight and heads towards them.

He knows he is getting close when he sees a pair of guards walking down the street, heading right towards him. He keeps his cool, knowing that if he looks nervous they will stop and question him. He passes an intersection, so he turns down the new street, casual as you please, and then ducks into the nearest alcove to wait.

Luckily, it is still quiet enough that he can hear when the guards pass.

“Must have gone in somewhere.” The words are faint, but definite, and Benvolio is glad he decided to hide himself because apparently he _was_ noticed.

“Probably just a merchant,” a second voice replies, followed by the distinctive sound of Men Walking in Armor.

It has gone quite again, but Benvolio waits a few more minutes before emerging from his hiding place. Back in the intersection, he looks up towards the palace once more, and thinks he sees something moving in a high window. He suddenly realizes he’s not entirely sure what Rosaline’s sister looks like. He’s only seen her a few times, but not up close, and does not recall ever having spoken to her.

Still, the dark shape in the window was decidedly feminine and it _would_ be just like Count Paris to lock his princess in a tall tower.

He keeps the tower in sight, occasionally glancing up while keeping most of his attention on his surroundings.

 _There she is again!_ He nearly trips over his own feet this time, seeing the person in the tower from a closer vantage point. He moves into another alcove, thinking. _I need to get in there._

He decides to attempt a circuit of the palace. Grateful for the chilly morning, he pulls his hood up, hiding his face, as he walks, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

When he braves walking directly beneath the tower, he pauses, looking around for the nearest point of entry.

Then something hits the top of his head, and he startles. It wasn’t hard, and as he whirls around, he sees no one. Then he feels it again. Something being dropped on his head, bouncing off the wool of his hood. He looks down and sees what is being dropped. Nuts.

He looks up, expecting to see a mischievous squirrel, but instead sees a brown female face looking down from several meters over his head. She is wide-eyed and pointing to her right.

“Livia?” he whispers, knowing she cannot hear him, but hoping she can see his mouth forming her name.

She nods frantically, then points emphatically. “Go that way!” she replies in kind, over-enunciating so he can read her lips.

He nods and follows her instructions, heading to his left, following the wall until he sees a small door set low in the stone façade, nearly covered with ivy. He doesn’t know what its purpose is, but Livia seemed pretty sure, and seemed to know who he was.

He pauses, his hand hovering in front of the door. _What if it is a trap, and she doesn’t wish to be rescued?_

_No. I must try. For Rosaline, I must try._

He turns the handle on the door. It groans loudly, and he winces. But it opens, and he slips inside.

Benvolio is greeted by an endless staircase, so he has no choice but to climb. He first draws his sword, holding it at the ready in front of him should he encounter anyone. _At least I shall have surprise on my side,_ he thinks, knowing no one will be expecting to encounter another person here.

He reaches the top of the staircase and is met with a heavy door. It is only then he realizes exactly what this is and why Livia knew about the entrance: it is the way Paris brought her here. This is her prison.

He listens at the door first, though he figures she must be alone if she was at liberty to hurl pistachios at him, but better safe than sorry.

After a minute, he taps. “Livia?” he whispers, his lips nearly touching the crack of the door.

“Montague?” comes the soft reply. “Benvolio Montague, is that truly you?”

“Yes,” he answers. “Can you open the door?”

“I cannot,” she answers. “Is my sister safe?”

“Yes, she is, and you will see her soon,” he answers, digging into a pouch on his belt and withdrawing some small tools. “I promised her I would return you to her.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Forgive me, I am only too eager to be out of here, but why have you made her such a promise?” Livia asks.

Benvolio concentrates on his task, sliding the thin pieces of metal into the lock. “Because she is my wife and I love her,” he answers without thinking. “Aha!” he declares when the lock springs free. He pushes the door open, and is met with approximately 100 pounds of flying Capulet. “Oof!” he exclaims, patting her on the back as she squeezes him so hard he can scarcely breathe.

“Wait, what?” she exclaims, releasing him. “Did you say ‘wife’?” She scurries around the room, pulling boots on and gathering the few belongings she has.

“Yes,” he answers. “Leave all that, we must away while we have the oppor—”

Benvolio stops mid-word when he sees Livia’s eyes widen in alarm. He whirls around, and the next thing he feels is a sharp pain in his side. Livia screams and Benvolio grabs the hand holding the dagger, yanking it free and twisting it until his assailant is forced to drop it. Then he pushes away and finds himself staring into the cold, angry eyes of Count Paris.

“You!” Paris hisses. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“You won’t get that chance now,” Benvolio counters, drawing his sword, his left hand still pressing his wound.

Paris scoffs. “You think you can best me with a gaping stab wound?” he taunts, moving forward, sword in hand.

“I could best you whilst blindfolded and standing on one leg, you traitorous cur,” Benvolio replies, meeting the count’s first thrust and easily parrying it away.

The two men fight, upsetting nearly everything in the small room as their swords meet again and again. It is clear that Paris _does_ indeed have a slight advantage, but it is only because of Benvolio’s wound.

Livia spends her time leaping out of the way and looking around for a way to help Benvolio. Both men have lightning-fast reflexes and are very fleet-footed, and it seems every time she moves into an advantageous location, they move away before she can do anything.

Benvolio’s energy is waning due to blood loss, and his motions become slower, giving Paris even more of an advantage. Livia takes her own advantage, reaching for the nearest heavy item, which happens to be her chamber pot. It hasn’t been emptied, but she has no time to care, kicking it over to empty before grabbing it.

Paris has Benvolio up against the window ledge, struggling with him, taunting him further.

“Should I… push you out of this… window or merely… cut your throat?” he growls, attempting to press the blade of his sword against Benvolio’s neck, but the other man is too strong, preventing him from making contact.

“You… can…”

Benvolio’s retort goes unspoken as Livia cracks Paris over the head with her chamber pot. It isn’t hard enough to knock him out, but it helps enough to allow Benvolio to jam his knee up into Paris’ groin, causing him to fall away from him in a crumpled heap.

“Thanks… wha—?” Benvolio watches in shock as Livia grabs one of the daggers from his belt. She pushes Paris’ shoulder back with her foot, and before he can recover enough to do anything, she plunges it into his chest.

Then she crumples to the floor, and Benvolio rushes over to her.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m… uninjured; that is all I can say for now,” she answers. Then she gathers her wits and sits up. “Oh dear, you are worrying about me and you’ve been stabbed!” she exclaims, remembering.

Benvolio watches with interest as Livia transforms before his eyes from Damsel in Distress to Livia the Healer, scurrying around the trashed room, gathering supplies.

She pulls a sheet from the bed and takes another dagger from Benvolio, which she uses to cut some strips from the linen.

“Take off your shirt,” she orders. “If you can.”

Benvolio nods and struggles out of his shirt. “Are you sure no one else will come up here?”

“Paris is the only one who ever came up here,” she answers. She looks at his wound. “I have nothing to clean it with, as the washbasin is now broken,” she says, “But I can bandage it and we can clean it later.”

Benvolio nods. She clearly knows what she is doing, so he decides to trust her, following her instructions: sit up straight, lift your arm, don’t fidget.

When she finishes, she helps him back into his shirt, then looks down at Paris. “What should we do with him?”

Benvolio thinks a moment. “You said no one else comes up here?” She nods, and he asks, “Does anyone else besides him know you are here?”

“I know not.”

“Take his trousers off.”

“What?”

“You are going to wear them,” he explains. “I think it would be safer if you disguised yourself. Just in case. And unless there are some men’s clothes around here somewhere, you’ll need to put on his trousers.”

“Very well,” she says. Benvolio tries to help her remove Paris’ boots, but the first time he hisses in pain, she shoos him away, telling him to sit and rest. He complies, but only because he knows that _Capulet_ tone is not to be argued.

Livia wrestles the trousers off of the count’s lifeless body, then pauses again. “I would take his shirt as well, but it is covered in blood,” she says.

“So is mine,” Benvolio points out.

“True,” Livia agrees. She somehow manages to get the shirt off of him, then looks at Benvolio. “Turn around,” she orders.

“Of course,” he immediately replies, and walks to the window, watching the city below, plotting their exit route. “Do guards patrol outside this tower?” he asks.

“Yes. Every 30 minutes,” she answers. “The bell tolled the hour not long ago, so we will either need to make haste or wait until the half hour bell.”

“When did it toll?” he asks. “I don’t recall hearing it.”

“You were fighting at the time,” she answers. “All right. I am dressed.”

Benvolio turns around to see her drowning in her late husband’s clothes. She is several inches shorter than Rosaline, and looks like a little girl playing dress-up. He shrugs. “Can you do something with your hair?” he asks, wishing he had thought ahead to bring some more supplies instead of choosing to leave everything back with his horse.

Livia nods and begins quickly braiding it. In minutes, her hair is up, wound around her head.

“That will have to do,” he declares, then turns his attention to the count’s mostly-naked body on the floor. “Grab the rest of that sheet.”

Immediately understanding, Livia takes the sheet she used for bandages and spreads it on the floor beside Paris. Then the two of them tightly wrap the body in the sheet, hoist it to the window, check to make sure it is clear below, then push him out.

“Let’s go,” Benvolio says.

“The guards…” Livia replies.

“The guards will be preoccupied with the discovery of their leader’s dead body and likely take no notice of us at all,” he explains, then grabs her hand and begins pulling her towards the door.

Livia grabs a bag she had quickly packed as she stumbles towards the door.


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing they see when they reach the bottom of the tower is a guard running past. Benvolio quickly tugs Livia back into the doorway, wincing as he does so.

“You need to be careful,” she harshly whispers. “If I bring you back dead, Rosaline will kill us both.”

Benvolio is too distracted to notice the ridiculousness of her statement. He merely nods, deciding not to burden Livia with the details of the deal they struck with Escalus just yet. However, he cannot help but wonder if Rosaline would still have to marry Escalus if he dies but Livia is returned. They hadn’t considered that scenario. _Worry about that later. Get Livia to safety first._

He peeks out of the doorway again. He can hear a lot of voices, but sees no one, so he pulls his hood up, then motions for Livia to follow him out of the mostly-hidden tower entrance.

They take the long way around the palace, avoiding walking past the gory scene they left behind them. He loses track of his way only once, blaming the pain in his side for his loss of bearings, but finds his way soon enough.

By the time they reach the city walls, he is sweating and gritting his teeth.

"Halt,” a guard stops them as they try to pass.

Benvolio inwardly swears and glances at Livia, who has the sense to keep her head down, hoping that the guard won’t recognize that it is Count Paris’ hat covering her head.

"State your business,” the guard says.

"I am but a simple merchant,” Benvolio answers. “Visiting your great city to find new customers. This,” he motions towards Livia, “is my assistant. My nephew.”

The guard barely glances at her. “Hm. Where are your wares, Merchant?”

"I have left my samples with my prospective customers, of course. Know you nothing about commerce?” he asks, his tone suggesting the guard is dim.

"Oh, er, right.” Benvolio takes a step, but the guard stops him again. “I didn’t say you could go,” he says. “What is your name?”

"Giacomo,” Benvolio answers, snatching the first name that springs to mind. His father’s.

"Boy,” the guard calls. “What are you called?”

"His name is Salvatore. He does not speak,” Benvolio quickly answers, knowing Livia’s feminine voice will give her away immediately, even if she is supposed to be just a boy.

"Here, let me have a look at you…” the guard says, beginning to move closer to Livia.

Benvolio steps forward, sword silently and swiftly drawn. “Take one more step and it will be your last,” he growls low.

"You’re no merchant,” the guard says, wisely freezing.

"No, I’m not,” Benvolio confirms. “Let us through without incident and you will keep your life.” He backs away enough to give the guard an opportunity to step aside.

Benvolio and Livia walk through, keeping their eyes on the guard. Just when they are past, Livia hears something behind them and looks back.

The guard is lunging towards—

"Montague!” Livia yells, and Benvolio immediately turns, his dagger finding its way into his palm like it has grown there. He plunges it into the guard’s belly.

"I did warn you,” Benvolio quietly says, letting the guard fall to the ground at his feet. He turns towards Livia, putting his dagger away. “We need to move quickly. My horse is hidden in the forest,” he says.

She nods, noticing he is looking worse. “Good, because you need to get to where you can rest as quickly as possible.”

They begin to briskly walk into the woods, Benvolio leading them to the abandoned house where Pluto is (hopefully) waiting.

As they walk, he begins thinking again.

“Livia,” he says, “if I do die…”

“Hush. You’re not going to die,” Livia replies, sounding reasonably sure of herself.

“You were the one who brought it up,” he points out.

She sighs. “Your wound isn’t that deep, so as long as it stays clean and closed – and we don’t encounter anyone _else_ trying to kill us – you’ll be fine.”

He presses his lips together. “Go to the convent,” he says, pressing on anyway.

“What?” she asks, stopping to look at him.

“If something does happen that prevents me from returning to Rosaline. Go to the convent and seek sanctuary there,” he says.

“What ever for?”

He reaches for her hand, stopping their progress. “I simply… we made a deal with the Prince in order to gain his permission for me to come and rescue you,” he answers. “If I am successful, you get to live with us in your family home instead of with your Aunt and Uncle.”

“Oh, that will be wonderful!” Livia exclaims. But seeing Benvolio’s somber expression, she asks, “And if you fail?”

“She has to marry him. He… he still loves her,” he explains, frowning.

“But she no longer loves him,” she says. “She loves you. Or I’m assuming she does, because she apparently married you?”

He nods. “’Tis a long story,” he sighs. “I have complete faith in her love, but do not relish the knowledge that another man is in love with my wife. Especially because that man is the prince.”

“Understandable,” she agrees, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“In any case, we did not account for your return and my demise. I do not want Rosaline to be unhappy, so if she wishes to take up holy orders – as she once wished to – instead of marrying a man she does not trust and does not wish to marry, go to the convent. This is my wish, but I will leave the ultimate decision to the two of you,” he concludes. He knows he cannot order either of them to do anything, nor would he, so he chooses to phrase his wish as a request instead of an order.

Livia stares at him, hard, for a moment. “I will agree, but it is unnecessary, because you are not dying,” she says.

They hear voices nearby, and it spurs them into motion. “I’d wager those men are from the encampment outside the city walls,” Benvolio mutters, leading his sister-in-law swiftly through the woods.

“What?”

“I’ll explain later,” he quietly says. “Once we reach my horse and get well away from here.”

xXx

Pluto is an obedient horse. He is waiting right where he left him, tail swishing idly. He nickers and bobs his head when he sees his master.

“Oh, he’s beautiful,” Livia sighs upon seeing the great black horse.

“His name is Pluto,” he says, then pats Pluto on the side. “You’ll have to ride with me back to the inn.”

He helps Livia up, then mounts in front of her. She carefully holds on to him, taking great care to not disturb his wound, especially because he was beginning to look a bit pale and waxy.

“Are you all right?” she asks once they are moving.

“Yes… I think so,” he answers.

“Do you have anything to drink? Water, preferably?” she asks.

“No time right now,” he says. “I want to get a little farther away.”

“You need to rest.”

“I will once I am back with my Rosaline.”

His answer surprises her a little, because when Livia last saw her sister, she was still trying to find her way out of her arranged marriage to the Montague. Hearing Benvolio refer to her sister as _his_ Rosaline simply tells her she needs to find out all the details from her sister as soon as humanly possible.

She says nothing more, simply holding on to him until he finally decides to stop.

Livia slides down with ease, then watches as Benvolio dismounts, ready to steady him should he stumble or lose his balance. She has no idea how badly he is still bleeding, if he _is_ still bleeding, and how much blood he has lost.

“Sit,” she orders, pointing to large tree.

“I’ve been sitting all this time,” he argues, but sits nevertheless, leaning against the trunk.

“You’ve been riding. That is not restful,” she counters. “Water.”

“There,” he points to a saddlebag, then lets his arm flop down to his side. _I didn’t realize how tired I was until just now. Maybe I will just close my eyes for a moment…_

“Drink.” Livia’s voice is not to be contested, and Benvolio’s eyes open. He takes the canteen and drinks.

“Oh that’s good,” he gasps, then drinks more.

“I’d like to check your bandage,” she says, sitting beside him.

“Very well,” he agrees. “Can I have something to eat?”

“In a moment,” she says. “I need to check this first.” They ease his shirt off and she sees he is starting to bleed through the bandages. She presses her lips together to keep herself from swearing, and thinks. _I do not want to remove the bandages because it could open the wound further._ “Do you have anything I can use as an additional bandage?”

“Is it bad?”

“It is beginning to bleed through, but I do not want to remove them right now. I simply want to add more layers to keep it contained,” she explains.

“Use my shirt,” he says. “It is ruined anyway.”

“What will you wear?” she asks.

“I have another in my pack,” he answers. Then he closes his eyes again and leans his head back against the tree.

“Stay awake,” Livia says while she works at further destroying his shirt.

“Just resting my eyes,” Benvolio answers.

“I mean it,” she presses, and he opens his eyes.

He watches her work, noting the concentration on her face, the determined eyes. He smiles, and she looks up and catches him.

“What?” she asks.

“I never thought you looked much like your sister,” he says. “But I see it now. You both scowl the same.”

Livia snorts a laugh and begins wrapping more strips of fabric around his torso.

“I know you’re taking care of me for her sake, but I thank you for it all the same,” he says.

She ties the bandage tight and he hisses, then goes to the horse and digs around until she finds a shirt. She helps him into it, then finally says, “It is not just for Rosaline. I can see now that you are a good man.”

“For a Montague?”

“For a _man_ ,” she insists. “Thank you for coming to rescue me,” she adds, then leans over and lightly kisses his cheek. “Food!” she exclaims a moment later, then hurries away to find something for them to eat.

xXx

By the time they reach the inn, Livia is holding the reins and Benvolio is slumped behind her, leaning heavily on her. She has been talking to him non-stop, asking him question after question to keep him awake.

“Livia! Benvolio!” Rosaline exclaims, rushing out of the inn to meet them. As soon as she sees the state Benvolio is in, she dashes back inside and calls for Fausto.

The innkeeper hurries out, leaving his stunned customers staring after him.

There is no time for cheerful, tearful reunions; their concern is getting the injured Benvolio off the horse and into a bed so he can be treated.

Rosaline and Livia grab what they can while Fausto helps Benvolio, basically pulling him down and cradling him like a child. He quietly gives instructions to a stablehand before carrying Benvolio inside.

Rosaline quickly pulls back the covers on the bed to allow Fausto to lie him down. He gives the ladies a nod, says, “Let me know if you need anything,” and leaves.

“Thank you, Fausto,” Rosaline says, then quickly joins her sister in tending her husband. She presses kisses to his sweaty forehead, holds his hand, and whispers reassuring nothings while Livia brings the basin of water over. “What do you need?”

“Fresh bandages, a clean needle and some silk thread, and see if they have any calendula or elderberry. Preferably both,” she answers.

“All right,” Rosaline replies, kisses Benvolio once more, then dashes away to find Fina.

She nearly collides with the older woman on her way out the door.

“Fausto said your man was poorly… I brought everything I could think of,” Fina announces, offering a basket filled with various medicinal supplies.

“Thank you,” Rosaline replies, taking the basket and setting it beside Livia.

“Hold this. Tightly,” Livia says, pressing her sister’s hands over the compress she had been holding to Benvolio’s side. “You didn’t take care,” she mutters at him, pulling the things she needs from the basket. “I told you not to move around too much… but no, you did not listen and now you’ve lost so much blood…”

“What happened?”

“Paris… he…” Benvolio tries to answer, but even talking takes too much energy. Livia continues for him.

“Paris discovered us. Luckily Benvolio moved in time or he would not be here at all,” she explains. Then she suddenly looks up “Excuse me, do you have a sturdy, clean needle and silk thread?” she asks, looking at Fina.

“Oh! Yes. I won’t be a moment,” Fina answers, then disappears. She returns before Livia can continue her story. “Can I do anything to help?” she asks, wringing her hands.

“Those chickens. The ones you were roasting,” Rosaline says, trying to ignore the sounds of Livia cleaning Benvolio’s wound behind her. “Would you—”

“Oh, of course! Good, hearty broth is what he’ll be needing, yes?” Fina asks, anticipating her question.

“Yes, please,” Rosaline answers. “Thank you. For everything.”

Fina simply smiles, curtseys, and leaves, heading for the kitchen.

Rosaline turns back around to see her sister huddled close to her husband, threaded needle in hand.

“Benvolio, I need to stitch your wound closed. You’re going to have to keep very still,” Livia says.

“Rosaline,” Benvolio calls, holding out the hand on his uninjured left side. She immediately goes, slipping her hand into his.

“Squeeze as hard as you need. I will not break,” she says, clasping his hand between both of hers.

“I know,” he whispers. Then he hisses in pain when the needle pierces his skin. His whole body tenses and he squeezes her hand. His right hand clenches the sheets and Livia leans on his arm to keep him still.

“If you keep squirming I’m going to have Rosaline get the man who carried you up here and have him sit on you,” Livia says.

“Sorry,” Benvolio grunts.

“I can work faster if you don’t move,” she explains. She continues working, and after three more stitches, she doesn’t notice how still he’s gone.

“Livia,” Rosaline says in a wavering voice.

Livia looks up and sees that her patient is unconscious. “Is he still breathing?”

Rosaline leans down, her ear close to his nose. “Yes,” she exhales, then puts her hand on his chest, over his heart. “Heart is beating steadily.”

“He should be fine. This is better actually; he won’t feel a thing now,” Livia says.

Rosaline watches with interest as her younger sister stitches her husband’s skin closed as easily as if she were mending a torn seam or hemming a skirt.

“You amaze me,” she comments.

“Do not tell me you are squeamish,” Livia replies, chuckling.

“You know I am not,” Rosaline responds, smiling. “I simply meant that you know exactly what to do. It is a shame you cannot go to the University and study to become a surgeon.”

Finished with her stitching, Livia spreads a salve from Fina’s basket (after carefully studying it to make sure it was good) on the wound and begins putting a new, clean bandage on it. “I would love that, but as women are not allowed to study, I will settle for learning what I can where I can,” she answers.

She finishes her work, then checks him over once more for any sign of fever or any other concern. Rosaline removes his boots and they pull the sheet over him to let him rest.

Once they determine he is sleeping peacefully, the two Capulet sisters, disheveled and blood-splattered, stand and stare at one another for a long moment.

Then they fly into each other’s arms, hugging fiercely, finally allowing the tears to fall.

“I am so glad you are back,” Rosaline whispers, afraid to open her eyes or her arms for fear that her sister will evaporate if she does.

“Thank you for sending Benvolio to come and get me,” Livia replies.

The two women slowly pull away from one another, giggling sheepishly, wiping tears, and fixing hair.

“It was his idea,” Rosaline says, leading her sister to the table to sit. She picks up a nearby pitcher and pours them some wine.

“Truly?”

“Yes. He knows how important you are to me.” She reaches across the table for her sister’s hand. “So. Tell me what happened. How did you get away from Count Paris?”

“I killed him,” Livia answers.

“What?”

xXx

“Capulet…”

Rosaline jumps at the sound of her husband’s voice. It is hoarse and weak but it is definitely his. She is at his side in a moment. “Benvolio,” she exhales, taking his hand and kissing it. “How do you feel?”

“Weak,” he answers. “I despise feeling weak.” He idly looks around the room. “Where is your sister?”

“Downstairs bothering Fina, no doubt,” Rosaline replies. “We had a good long talk, but then she got hungry. I decided to stay here with you.”

“Thank you,” he says, smiling at her. “But I am hungry. Was there talk of broth earlier or was I hallucinating?”

“There was. Shall I run and get some for you?” she asks.

“Not yet. Stay here with me a bit longer,” he says.

She moves further onto the bed, on his uninjured side. “Your color is a little better. You looked like a wax figure when Livia brought you here,” she says.

“Some hero I am,” he dryly comments. “I was meant to rescue Livia and she wound up saving _my_ life.”

“You are being ridiculous,” she replies. “You _did_ rescue her. She told me all about it.”

“It was… a joint effort then,” he sighs, closing his eyes. Then he gingerly moves so he can rest his head on her lap.

“If you pull those stitches…” she warns.

“I am being _very_ careful,” he assures her. “I am not going through that again.”

“You lost consciousness,” she points out.

“And I am grateful for it,” he says.

Rosaline smiles. “I am grateful for you,” she replies, running her fingers through his slightly damp hair. “Grateful that you are not a foolishly proud man who cannot deal with getting assistance from a woman or would be embarrassed by losing consciousness from pain.”

Benvolio turns his head and nuzzles her stomach. “Any man who will not accept help _is_ a fool,” he says. “And any man who says he is not troubled by pain is a liar.” He presses a kiss there then turns his head back to look up at her again.

“I’m quite pleased you aren’t dead,” she says with a smile, repeating words she said on her balcony less than a week ago.

“As am I,” he replies, remembering his response that night.

She lightly rakes her fingers through his beard, ruffling and smoothing it in turn. “Thank you for bringing my sister back to me,” she says. “If you were not injured…” she trails off, biting her lip as she loses her courage to finish the statement.

“Yes?” he prompts, the look on his face telling her he knows exactly what she is thinking.

She lightly thumps him on the head.

“You’re blushing,” he comments.

“How can you tell?” she asks, inwardly cursing because he’s right.

“I can tell,” he declares. “Beloved Capulet, there is no one I know better than you. Your lovely cheeks may not tinge pink, but you are blushing all the same.”

“You must be delirious,” she dismisses, shaking her head at how, even injured, he is still too charming by half.

“Deliriously in love,” he replies, grinning stupidly up at her.

“Ugh,” she groans. “I hope that sounded better inside your head.”

Benvolio laughs, holding his side. “It did,” he admits. “I do love you though.”

“I know. And I do love you,” Rosaline responds. “Even though you are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in—”

She presses her fingers over his mouth, trying not to laugh. “Do not.”

He kisses her fingers and she removes them. He opens his mouth to speak, but his stomach beats him to it, rumbling robustly.

“Do you want that broth now?” she asks, giggling.

“Yes, please,” he answers.


	7. Chapter 7

Benvolio slept soundly through the night, aided by some valerian root. Rosaline and Livia did not fare quite as well, taking turns keeping watch over their patient.

When she did sleep, Livia slept on a pallet on the floor of their room, though she was given the room just across the hall from them. Rosaline slept beside her husband. She was reluctant to do so, not wishing to unintentionally jostle his wound, but he insisted. She relented, under the condition that she sleep on his left side.

Come morning, the Capulet sisters were still tired, and Benvolio was rested but cranky.

“My side hurts and I feel useless,” he grumbles around the porridge Fina brought for him. “And would it be too much to ask for some meat?”

Livia rolls her eyes. “If he’s this pleasant, he must be feeling better,” she sarcastically says. “I think I’m going to go to my own room for a bit to freshen up.”

“Gee, thanks,” Rosaline replies.

“Just giving you some time alone with your new husband,” Livia retorts with mock sweetness, just before she closes the door behind her.

Rosaline looks at her husband. “We’ll see about giving you something heartier for lunch,” she says with a sigh.

“Meat.”

“Perhaps.”

He gives her a level look, attempting to glare at her, but quickly realizes that he is far out of his depth in this competition. _There is no way I can best Rosaline Capulet in a glaring contest._ He sighs and finds himself biting back a smile as he pokes his spoon back into his porridge, never so happy to be defeated.

The truth is, Benvolio loves Rosaline’s strength and courage. He even loves the intimidating side of her, the side that was just staring him down across the table while he was making juvenile demands. She wouldn’t be Rosaline, _his_ Rosaline, if she were to be tamed into mildness by something as innocuous as marriage.

“You gave in rather quickly, Husband.” Her words break into his thoughts and he looks up.

“Hmm?” he asks.

“Are you feeling poorly then?” she continues, reaching over to press her hand to his cheeks and forehead, checking for fever.

He catches her hand and kisses her palm. “Apart from being stabbed and then mended like a rent garment yesterday, I am well, Wife,” he answers, still holding her hand. “I was merely pondering the… more frightening aspects of your personality,” he confesses. She opens her mouth to protest, and he quickly adds, “ _And_ how much I love them.”

She blinks in surprise, then says, “There is something very wrong with you.”

“And still you love me,” he counters, chuckling. He releases her hand to take the last few bites of his breakfast.

“I do,” she admits. “Which likely means there is something very wrong with me as well.”

“It seems we are well-suited then,” he declares, then reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair. “Ugh,” he groans. “I would love a bath, but I am fairly certain I cannot indulge in that luxury until my side heals.”

Rosaline thinks for a moment. “That does not mean we cannot get you clean,” she decides.

“We?” Benvolio asks, hoping she means what he thinks she means.

She stands and picks up his bowl. “I will be back soon,” she says, her voice soft, as she leans over and kisses his forehead.

xXx

When Rosaline returns, she is empty-handed and Benvolio is visibly disappointed.

“Do not fret, Beloved, Fina is sending up the tub presently,” she says.

He brightens. “Are you going to bathe me?” he asks, his tone more hopeful and less saucy then he intended.

“If you behave yourself,” she answers, pursing her lips to hide her smile.

“Why would I start now?” he returns, reaching out with his left hand to grab her arm as she passes. She stops and bends to kiss his upturned face. “Though I will admit my bad behavior in many areas has lessened considerably since meeting you.”

“It had better have disappeared completely if they are the areas of which I am thinking,” she cautions.

“Of course,” he assures her, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth on the soft skin of her inner forearm. “I no longer have the need for purchased companionship, and no longer have a need to numb my emotions with drink.”

“Good,” she declares, then bends to kiss him once more.

There is a knock at the door and she bids them enter.

“Thank you,” she says, watching as the tub is brought in, followed by buckets of steaming water. “Not too full, if you please. And leave a full basin.”

“Yes, my lady,” a young man says with a light bow.

Once the servants leave, Rosaline turns to Benvolio and says, “Livia will likely wish to see how your wound is faring. I will fetch her before we begin.”

“All right,” he answers, then sets about attempting to remove his shirt while his wife goes to find her sister.

When the sisters return, Benvolio is sitting and scowling. “I cannot even remove my tunic without assistance,” he grumbles.

“Nor should you,” Livia says, walking towards him as Rosaline hurries over to help him with his clothing. “You got yourself in this state because you were not as careful as you should have been,” she reminds him.

“It is not my fault I was stabbed,” he protests.

“I was referring to—”

“I _know_ ,” he sighs, interrupting her. “And I have learned my lesson, I promise.”

“And what lesson would that be?” Rosaline asks, curious, while Livia kneels down and begins checking his stitches.

“To heed the words of women who are wiser than me. Specifically, the Capulet sisters,” he says. He is rewarded with another kiss from his wife and his sister-in-law declares that his wound is doing well and his color is improved.

“Thank you, Livia,” Rosaline says, following her sister to the door. “You should get some rest, since you did not sleep last night.”

“I slept a bit,” Livia says. At her sister’s knowing look, she amends, “A very little bit. But you did not sleep much either.”

“I believe I got more than you,” Rosaline replies.

“Do not over-exert him,” Livia cautions, trying not to smile.

“Livia!” Rosaline exclaims, shocked at her sister’s boldness. Livia’s laughter joins Rosaline’s as she walks back to her own room.

Rosaline closes her door, then slides the bolt into place.

“Beloved, why have you locked the door?” Benvolio asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Surely you do not wish to be disturbed during your bath,” she innocently answers, crossing towards him. She holds out both hands to him, he places his in them, and she helps him to his feet.

“I think I need help with my trousers,” he says. “It is difficult for me to bend.”

“You are so transparent,” she replies, but her hands are already at the ties of his trousers. He takes advantage of her proximity and kisses her. Several times. “You must be feeling better,” she comments between kisses.

“Not as much as I would like,” he replies, giving her a longing look that tells her exactly what he means.

“I know,” she whispers, pecking his lips before leading him to the tub. She ponders it a moment, then grabs a stool and places it in the tub. “Sit.”

He steps into about 18 inches of water, then sits on the stool, feeling a bit strange and exposed. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice, long soak,” he says, turning his head, looking for her. “What are you doing?”

“Changing,” she says. “I do not wish to get my dress all wet.”

He keeps his eyes on her as she removes her gown and slips into one of his shirts. Since she is not that much shorter than he, it isn’t as long as she would like, only just covering her rear, but she simply shrugs and rolls up the sleeves.

When she returns to the tub, Benvolio’s eyes are glued to Rosaline’s legs.

“Benvolio?” she asks. His gaze snaps up to her face when she sits on another stool beside the tub.

“You have beautiful legs,” he dumbly comments, realizing he really hasn’t gotten the opportunity to truly study his wife’s lovely body, and makes a mental note to remedy that situation once he is healed.

“Thank you,” she replies, then wets the cloth and begins gently rubbing it over his body. “Let me know if you get cold and I will stoke up the fire.”

He merely nods. The sensation of having Rosaline tend him this way is much more pleasurable than he expected. When she returns the cloth to his body, this time with soap, his eyes close and a low groan slips from his throat.

Her hands are sure and gentle as they move over his body, washing away dirt from travel and sweat from both exertion and illness.

It feels amazing.

“I cannot remember the last time I was bathed,” he says, opening his eyes to look down at her.

“You were likely just a babe,” she replies, dropping her gaze as her hands move lower. She knows what she wants to do, but isn’t sure if she is brave enough. She is also not entirely sure if he is strong enough for any sort of _activity_. But then her hand grazes his length on its way up his thigh and it twitches in response.

“You are blushing again,” he comments. “Whatever it is you are thinking of doing, Capulet… I assure you, it will be welcomed.”

She presses her lips together, then allows the cloth to drop into the shallow water. Her hand finds its way between his thighs, wrapping around his shaft. She hasn’t really gotten a good look at it before, so she does so now as she slides her hand over and around him, really feeling the thickness and weight, watching with undisguised interest as it grows within her grasp.

Benvolio groans again and reaches out to grasp the edges of the tub, needing to steady himself. Rosaline’s hands are strong and long-fingered, and they clearly remember what to do. “Oh, that’s good,” he exhales, nearly whispering.

She grows bolder, more curious, even moving her hands lower to cup and gently squeeze the softness of his sack below. He softly gasps, and she apologizes, removing her hand.

“No, that felt good,” he clarifies in a husky voice. “Just… take care you don’t squeeze too hard.”

“Oh,” she replies, almost mesmerized now. She moves closer, her hand sliding up and down. A moment later, she is overcome by the urge to simply lean down and kiss it. _He does something similar to me, so there must be some sort of reciprocation,_ she reasons.

So she bends down and softly kisses the tip.

“Yes,” he gasps. His eyes were closed again and her actions caught him quite by surprise.

“Is that…”

“Yes, keep doing that,” he answers. “Um, you can use your—yes…”

She licks him, anticipating his words. Then she swirls her tongue around the end, and, either accidentally or instinctively, sucks him into her mouth.

“God’s wounds,” he moans.

Rosaline, realizing she has once again stumbled upon something he likes, does it again. And again, continuing to use her hand where her mouth cannot reach. It feels a little strange, but his obvious enjoyment, coupled with the fact that she cannot help thinking she is doing something very naughty starts making her feel a bit warm and needy as well. She unconsciously moans, her mouth full of him, and his head drops back and lolls to the side.

“Oh… Rosaline… you are divine…” Benvolio is babbling now, his knuckles white where they are gripping the tub. She plunges him in as deep as she dares, then sucks hard, and he releases the side of the tub with one hand and places it on her head. “I think… you need to stop…” he gasps.

She releases him and looks up, her face concerned. “Are you all right?” she asks, her eyes darting from his face to his wound and back to his face.

His face looks wrecked and his breathing is heavy, but the stitches are holding fine. He nods. “I was simply… too close, and I—”

Her eyes widen. “Oh! I hadn’t really thought about…”

He caresses her cheek. “Well, there is that, but… I want, I  _need_ to be inside you, Rosaline,” he explains, his hand moving from her face down to her arms. “Come here.”

“But…” she protests, but allows herself to be guided into the tub, her bare feet splashing into the rapidly-cooling water before he pulls her over to straddle his lap.

“You’re going to do all the work, obviously,” he says, grinning up at her before he kisses her.

“Livia is going to kill us,” she mutters between kisses, but even as she says the words, her hand is snaking down between them to guide him into place.

“Worth it,” he comments when she slowly sinks down onto him.

“Yeah,” she agrees, tugging at the shirt to keep it out of the way. She decides to just pull it off, but he stops her.

“Leave it,” he says, his lips latching onto her neck. “I like how you look in my tunic.”

“Oh,” she replies, more a sigh than an answer, as she moves on his lap. His arms wrap around her as he continues to place sucking kisses on her neck, supporting her as best he can.

He groans against her skin, and she gasps, her fingers tangling in his hair.

Benvolio kisses higher, moving to her ear, where he whispers, “Touch yourself,” his voice a barely audible breath, warm against her skin, and Rosaline finds her hand moving before she even really realizes what he has said.

His hands tighten in the fabric of her shirt as he tries to hold on just a little longer, wanting her to have her pleasure as well.

Her fingers seem to know what to do, rubbing small circles at the apex of her thighs. She feels the mounting sensations beginning to take over and her rhythm begins to falter.

He knows she is close and lets go, unable to wait any longer. He buries his face in the side of her neck as he floods into her with a groan.

Just as his orgasm ebbs, hers crests, and she gasps, clutching his head.

A few moments later, she loosens her grasp and he lifts his face, looking up at her one more. “Thank you,” he sighs. “That was just what I needed.”

She chuckles and kisses his nose. “I am not certain that is entirely correct, but you’re welcome,” she replies. She runs her fingers through his hair, then says, “Your hair needs a wash.”

xXx

“What are you doing?” Benvolio asks, gingerly sitting up in bed. He was exhausted after his bath and promptly fell asleep when his head hit his pillow. He woke up some time later to the sound of a quill scratching on parchment.

“I am writing a letter to the prince,” Rosaline answers. “Since we are remaining here until you are well enough to travel, I thought it best to at least send a message and let him know you were successful.”

He smiles at his clever wife. “What does it say?” he asks.

“One moment; I’m nearly done. Then I’ll read you the entire thing,” she replies. “Do you need anything?”

“I’d love something to drink,” he says. “I am parched. How long was I asleep?”

She stands and pours him a cup of water. “Several hours. You missed lunch,” she answers, delivering his drink with a kiss before returning to the table. “If you are hungry, I will have something brought up.”

“Yes, thank you,” he replies, sipping his water as he waits for her to finish her letter.

A few minutes later she sets the quill down. “All right.”

“Proceed, fair Rosaline,” he declares.

She snorts, then begins reading:

_Your Grace,_

_I thought it would be prudent to write and inform you that Benvolio Montague has been successful in his mission to rescue Livia Capulet from Mantua. She is unharmed and safe once again._

_As it turns out, Lord Montague’s errand was doubly successful, as Count Paris was killed during the rescue attempt. It was Lady Livia Capulet who dealt the fatal blow, in fact, and she and Lord Montague were able to escape in the confusion that was caused by this act._

“You didn’t tell him that we shoved his dead body out of the tower window?” Benvolio interrupts.

“It isn’t relevant right now,” Rosaline explains. “You can give him a full account when we return to Verona.”

“Very well,” he responds.

“May I continue?” she asks.

“Please.”

_However, Lord Montague was injured in this struggle, so we will be remaining where we are until such time as he is well enough to travel without causing further stress to his injury. I assure you his wound is not fatal and he will be fully recovered in several weeks._

_He will give you a full account of his mission upon our return to Verona._

“You didn’t tell him where we are,” Benvolio says.

“I know I did not,” Rosaline confirms. “We do not need him thinking he should come out here.”

He nods, then asks, “Does he know we married?”

She snorts a laugh. “Well, he’ll find out when he reads this letter.”

“He will?” he asks.

“Yes. I signed my name ‘Lady Rosaline Montague’, so I think he will be able solve that mystery,” she answers.

xXx

A week has passed. Benvolio is healing well, and Livia has removed his stitches. While both Rosaline and Livia have been keeping busy caring for Benvolio and helping out in the inn, their patient is growing quite bored.

His hand itches to pick up a sword. His body aches for activity (other than the rather satisfying activities in which he participates with his wife, but even in their marriage bed, he wishes to do more). He is not made for sitting around and doing nothing.

Rosaline somehow found some sticks of charcoal for him, so at least he can sketch. He mainly draws his wife, but, when he is allowed to sit down in the tavern, will practice drawing anything from a tankard of ale to the pattern of bricks in the wall to Fausto’s perpetual scowl (this last was immediately confiscated by a delighted Fina). Occasionally he plays cards with the inn patrons and even the innkeeper once or twice.

Still, he longs to return to his unrestricted lifestyle. _Not that I even know what that is anymore_ , he realizes, frowning at the page in front of him. He is sketching his own hand, he is so bored.

He doesn’t even look up when someone comes in, figuring it is simply a guest. When that someone’s shadow blocks his light and does not move, Benvolio looks up.

xXx

“Are you certain?” Livia quietly asks Rosaline in a corner of the kitchen, where they are sorting through some vegetables for that night’s dinner.

“Of course I’m not certain,” Rosaline answers, looking at her sister. “That’s why I’m telling you.”

“Well, when was it supposed to arrive?”

“I’m… not entirely sure. Two, perhaps three days?”

Livia takes the carrot dangling from Rosaline’s hand and places it in the  _good_ pile. “Hmm. That doesn’t seem like long enough to know.”

“I _know,_ ” Rosaline agrees. “But I am beginning to get anxious and I do not want Benvolio to worry. You know I cannot keep anything from him.”

“Yes, curious, that,” Livia comments. “It seems he knows you as well as I do, and in such a short time.” She shakes her head. “And, given that you disliked one another most ardently at first, it is a miracle that the two of you are now so thoroughly _married._ ”

Rosaline sighs and tosses a soft turnip in the compost pile. “You stray from the subject,” she chides.

“Fine,” Livia replies. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel perfect,” Rosaline answers. “I’ve not been tired or ill or… or anything. If anything, I feel… _better_ than usual.” Her brow furrows. “It’s all very confusing.”

“Give it a few more days,” Livia counsels. “From what I understand, not everyone gets sick. Perhaps you are simply lucky.”

She nods, and the two sisters work silently for a few minutes. “Can you imagine Benvolio’s face though?”

Livia snorts a small laugh. “He will be thrilled.”

“Oh, I do hope so,” Rosaline replies. “He has not exactly had an easy life.” Livia nods, and her expression gradually changes, like she has just figured out a puzzle. “What?” Rosaline asks.

“Well, he looks like a lost puppy about half of the time, and I had wondered at it from time to time. Perhaps this will give him some direction,” Livia observes.

Rosaline smiles a faint smile and says, “Lost puppy. Yes, that sounds about right.” She chucks the last carrot on the pile, wipes her hands, and says, “Let’s go see how our puppy is faring, shall we?”

xXx

“Lord Montague.”

“Mateo,” Benvolio says, surprised. “Did… did Rosaline give our location in her message after all?”

“No,” Mateo answers. “I have stopped at every inn between here and Verona, looking for you.”

Benvolio blinks once, then gestures to the other chair at his table. Mateo sits, and Benvolio asks, “Why?”

“My prince commanded it,” he answers.

“Of course he did. But why?” Benvolio asks, setting his charcoal down and folding his hands in front of him. He has a feeling he knows why, but he wants to make the man say it.

As if on cue, Rosaline and Livia come into the tavern from the kitchen, laughing and chatting. Their laughter abruptly stops when they see the back of Mateo’s gray head.

Mateo, unaware that the Capulet sisters are right behind him, says, “Prince Escalus wished to confirm Lady Livia was indeed safely returned.”

“Did he now?” Rosaline asks, her hands on her hips. Mateo jumps in surprise, his head sharply turning towards the voice, then leaps to his feet when he sees who it is. He opens his mouth to speak, but Rosaline beats him to it. “My word was not good enough for him again?”

Mateo leaps to his feet. “My lady, I—”

“As you can see, my sister is here and quite well,” Rosaline interjects. “You have done your duty to the prince, so you may return to Verona and give him your report.”

“Yes, my lady,” Mateo answers, his voice weak. “Um…”

“Yes?” she asks, her eyebrow raising.

“I am also to confirm… you signed the letter with the name Rosaline _Montague_?” he asks.

“Yes. Benvolio and I married just after obtaining permission from Prince Escalus to rescue Livia,” Rosaline explains. “Tell your prince that. Tell him I had that much faith that Benvolio would be successful in his mission.”

“He is not pleased, my lady. Forgive me, but he feels that you were not truthful with him. That you were… withholding information from him,” Mateo says.

Rosaline heaves a sigh. “I wasn’t keeping it from him! And he’s not special; we didn’t tell anyone! Not our uncles, not _anyone!_ And if he wishes to tally up wrongs committed against one another, I am ready to play that game.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and stares him down.

Mateo is stunned into silence, her fiery expression burning through the center of his forehead and giving him a headache. “Yes, my lady,” he finally, quietly says. “I understand.”

“Good.”

“But… if you please, it is a long ride back to Verona. I should like to inquire with the innkeeper about a room for the night,” he says.

“I shall fetch him,” Livia says, then scurries away to find Fausto.

Rosaline catches her husband’s eye and sees that familiar twinkle there. She remembers what he said about enjoying her more _frightening_ characteristics, and feels heat flood her cheeks. His expression changes then, and she knows he can tell she is blushing. Again.


	8. Chapter 8

“Too early,” Benvolio grumbles, burrowing deeper into the covers.

Rosaline nudges him again, and he grabs her hand, pulling her onto the bed. She yelps and kicks him ineffectively. “Benvolio,” she protests, but he is pulling her hand closer, tucking it against his chest like she was spooned behind him instead of awkwardly leaning over him.

“Sleeping,” he declares.

“Perhaps you have forgotten we are _leaving_ today?” she asks. “You specifically stated—”

Her words are cut off as he manages to tug her onto the bed. Then he suddenly flips over and manages to pin her beneath him. “I know what I said,” he responds, nuzzling her nose with his. “But we have plenty of time.”

“You don’t know that,” she counters. “We may be delayed at the convent,” she points out.

“Doubtful,” he says, then kisses her. “I’ve sent word ahead, so they should be expecting us. And you’ll find that nuns are rather… economical with their words.”

“’Tis a pity you are not a nun,” she replies, smirking up at him.

“Are you certain about that, Capulet?” he asks, moving his lower body to let her feel exactly how much of a nun he is not.

“Well, at least you’re feeling better,” Rosaline comments with a sigh. Another week has passed since Mateo’s visit, and, under Livia’s excellent care, Benvolio’s recovery has been swift. His wound is nearly better and so is his mood.

He drops his head and kisses her, lingering over her lips, trying to entice her into staying in bed with him.

“We… do not… have time,” she reminds him, struggling to speak between his kisses.

“Are you sure?” he rumbles, increasing his efforts.

“Ye— _yes_ ,” she insists, turning her face to avoid his lips. He simply begins kissing her neck. “Everything and every _one_ is ready to go except for you.”

He lifts his head and looks around the room, noting everything of theirs is gone except for his bag. “How did I not hear anything? Surely Fausto would have had to carry the chest from your uncle down.”

“You heard nothing because you sleep like the dead,” she says, pushing at his shoulders again.

This time, he relents, moving off of her. Then he grabs her once more, but before she is able to protest, he says, “I almost forgot.” Then he bends down, presses a kiss low on her belly, and murmurs, “Good morning,” before kissing it once more.

Rosaline smiles fondly at her husband, letting her hand drop onto his head and thread into his hair while he nuzzles her stomach. She told him a few days ago, and he has been over the moon ever since. She will still see a midwife once they are home, but she had decided that her monthly was officially late enough to be reasonably certain that she is carrying his child.

Benvolio finally rises and quickly begins preparing to leave. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“I feel just fine, thank you,” she answers, getting off of the bed. “How are you?” she conversationally returns. He turns his head and just gives her a look, which only makes her laugh. “Your worry is endearing, but I truly am fine,” she assures, walking to him. “You know I would tell you if there was something amiss.”

He lifts her hand and kisses it. “I do,” he replies, once again reminding himself that their trust in and honesty with each other is the foundation of their love. “Is Livia growing impatient?” he asks.

“I do not know. Probably,” Rosaline answers, chuckling as she gathers his sleeping trousers and puts them in his bag while he finishes dressing.

“I shall be ready very soon,” he replies.

xXx

“I wish to go to the convent.” That is what Livia had told Rosaline the day after Mateo left. “I cannot study at the university, but I can learn the healing arts from the sisters at the convent,” she explained.

Rosaline had remembered Benvolio saying he knew the abbess there, and asked him about it. He thought it was an excellent idea and quickly abandoned his latest sketch – another one of Rosaline – to write a letter.

Now, a week later, they are on the road, heading for the convent and Livia’s future.

“Benvolio, may I ask you a question?” Livia asks once they are well underway.

“Of course,” he answers.

“How do _you_ know the abbess?” she asks. “I mean, she’s a nun and you’re, well… you.”

“Livia!” Rosaline scolds, but Benvolio is not offended. He pats his wife’s hand, wrapped around his waist.

“It’s all right,” he whispers, then turns his head to kiss her cheek. “You are referring to the habits of my past? Wondering how a man with such a… lively past should know the abbess of a convent,” he guesses, and Livia nods. “It’s very simple, really. She is my mother’s aunt.”

“Oh,” Livia replies. “I did not even consider…”

“That I have family other than my deplorable uncle? There are a few of them about. My mother was from Padua,” he explains.

“Why did you not go to stay with one of them when your parents died?” she asks.

“It was my father’s wish,” he answers with a sigh. “It was specified well before he died, obviously.”

“Before he was killed, you mean,” Rosaline comments, and Benvolio nods.

“He was killed?” Livia asks. “By a Capulet?”

“By my uncle,” Benvolio answers, then goes on to tell her what he learned in the dungeon. Livia is shaking her head in disgust by the end.

“Under what misfortunate stars were we all born that we have been cursed to suffer our families?” she wonders. “Your uncle killed his own brother for his title. Our aunt conspired to overthrow the prince.”

“And married our uncle for his title even though she loved our father,” Rosaline adds.

“ _What?_ ” Livia exclaims. When Rosaline told her of Sylvestro’s visit and the news of Giuliana’s suicide, she was surprised to see her sister was as unmoved as she had been. Even though Livia had been on better terms with their aunt than Rosaline, she felt no sorrow over her passing. The debacle with Count Paris may have played a role in that, but Rosaline did not wish to ask.

By the time Rosaline finishes explaining the depths of their aunt’s greed, they are close to the convent.

“You are certain about this?” Rosaline asks. “You could just come home with us and—”

“And do what?” Livia asks. “Apart from the two of you, there is nothing there for me except pity, if I am fortunate, and scorn if I am not. I am not yet ready to deal with the knowing looks from others as I walk through town, sympathetic or otherwise.”

“But—”

“Rosaline,” Benvolio’s voice is gentle as he interrupts her. “She needs to think about her own needs right now.”

Rosaline nods. “I am sorry, Livia,” she apologizes. “I should support you in what you want to do instead of trying to convince you to do what I want you to do. I was being selfish.”

Livia looks over at her sister and smiles. “You have no need to apologize, but thank you,” she says. “I would be doing the same if the situation was reversed.”

“I am just so accustomed to our lives being ‘Us Against the World’ that your choosing to follow your own path feels… strange,” Rosaline explains.

“It feels strange to me, too,” Livia admits. “But I need to do this.”

“I know.”

“I don’t love you any less.”

“Good,” Rosaline declares, and the two sisters start giggling as the convent comes into view.

“Ah. Here we are,” Benvolio says. He guides his horse through the gates and Livia follows close behind on Rosaline’s mare. No one meets them, so they simply dismount and secure the horses to a nearby tree.

xXx

They wait what seems like a long time after knocking, but finally there is a scrape and a clunk and the doors open.

“Welcome, travelers,” a young novice greets them with a smile. She is covered from head to toe, only her face and hands visible. “With what can we help you?”

Benvolio gives her a slight bow. “Would you be so good as to tell your abbess that Benvolio Montague is here?”

“Oh,” the nun replies, looking a little surprised, but quickly regroups. “Of course. Follow me, please.” She leads the way down a short corridor, gesturing to another novice as they go. “Please, rest yourselves. Sister Madalene will bring you some refreshments.”

“Thank you…”

“Sister Rachele,” she answers. She gives them a deferential nod, then disappears.

The trio sit, and Rosaline turns towards her husband. “Have you ever been here before?” she asks.

“No,” he answers, looking around at the art hanging on the walls.

“Your aunt _does_ know you, does she not?” Livia asks, picking up on her sister’s train of thought.

Benvolio gives them his full attention. “Of course she does,” he answers. “It has been several years since she has seen me…” he admits a moment later.

“How many years?” Rosaline asks.

“It was at my mother’s funeral. So I was… seven,” he answers.

“Smashing,” Livia sighs.

The door opens and Sister Madalene enters with a tray. She sets it on the table, then looks at them, a question on her face.

“Thank you,” Benvolio says, smiling. “You are most kind.”

Sister Madalene returns the smile, then pours wine into three goblets, which she then sets before each of them. She uncovers a plate of bread and cheese, nods, and then leaves.

“Can she not speak?” Livia whispers, even though they are alone in the room.

“I do not know,” Rosaline answers. “If you are to stay here, I imagine you will find out.”

“I have heard tales of members of some religious orders taking vows of silence, but I do not believe this is—”

Benvolio abruptly stops speaking when the door opens again. A tall, imposing older woman gracefully strides in, followed by Sister Rachele, and Benvolio immediately stands. Rosaline and Livia follow suit.

“Dear Benvolio,” she says, smiling at him. She walks over and, to the surprise of everyone, warmly embraces him. “You have grown into a handsome man indeed,” she declares, her hands still on his shoulders as she studies him. “You look just the same, only… older,” she decides with a nod, even reaching up to lightly tug on his short beard.

The Capulet sisters then realize that she is not imposing at all. Her station and dress give her that appearance, but were she otherwise outfitted and in a different environment, she would be just as impressive, but people would call her _elegant._

“Thank you, Aunt,” Benvolio answers, not entirely sure how he should address her. Rosaline stifles her giggles at Sister Rachele’s shocked expression. “Allow me to present my wife, Rosaline, and her sister, Livia Capulet,” he introduces, extending an arm to bring his wife forward. “Rosaline and Livia, my great aunt, Mother Maria Elizabetta.”

“I am very pleased to meet you, my lady,” Rosaline greets, curtseying.

“As am I, my child,” she returns, smiling at each sister in turn. “What a lovely pair you are, and Capulets! How surprising.” She looks at Benvolio. “That must have caused _quite_ the stir with your lord uncle,” she says. “But please, let us sit and talk a bit.”

They all sit at the table, and Sister Rachele pours another goblet of wine and places it before the abbess. Before anyone says another word, Mother Maria leads them in a short prayer of thanks for the refreshments and family, then petitions for a fruitful marriage for Benvolio and Rosaline and safe travels for their return trip to Verona.

Benvolio quickly fills his aunt in on the latest news from Verona, beginning with the deaths of Romeo and Juliet (of which she was already aware) and ending with Livia’s rescue. He even tells her about his uncle killing his father. The abbess’ expression clouds fiercely at that news, but she says nothing, patiently waiting until he has finished before saying anything.

“I caution you to tread carefully when dealing with Damiano and Tessa. A craftier pair of snakes I have never seen,” Mother Maria says. She takes a sip of her wine, then says. “But on to more pleasant topics. Lady Livia, I understand it is your wish to join us and learn the healing arts?”

“Yes, Mother,” Livia answers. “It is a skill in which I have always had a deep interest, and, given recent events, would very much like to learn as much as I can.”

“Recent events being saving my great-nephew’s life or your unfortunate marriage to the late count?” the abbess asks, clearly very astute.

“Um, both, actually,” Livia truthfully answers.

“Of course,” she replies, nodding. “And Rosaline, you approve of your sister’s choice?”

“She does not need my approval, but yes,” Rosaline answers. “I will miss her while she is away, but I will not keep her from following her dream.”

“I imagine you will have plenty to keep you busy once you return home,” Mother Maria says, giving Rosaline a strangely knowing look.

“Um, yes,” Rosaline answers, glancing at Benvolio. _Does she know? How can she know?_

Benvolio clears his throat. “Will Lady Livia be welcomed here then?” he asks.

“So direct. Well done,” Mother Maria replies. “Yes, of course she will. We have a room prepared for her already.”

“Oh, thank you!” Livia exclaims, overjoyed. “Thank you so much.”

“You are most welcome, my child. I only hope that you will find some well-deserved peace as well as knowledge while living within these walls,” the abbess says.

“I share that hope, Mother,” Livia responds. “Truly, I do.”

“Excellent,” Mother Maria declares.

xXx

Benvolio and Rosaline stay long enough to see Livia settled in, but know they need to return to Verona and would like to do so before nightfall. Rosaline and Livia share a long goodbye, filled with tears and promises to write often. Livia whispers a promise to return to see her new niece or nephew, which makes Rosaline smile, then cry more.

She finally moves away from her sister and turns towards Mother Maria. Benvolio hands her a small purse, which she gives to the abbess.

“This is a part of the bride price Lord Montague gave to my uncle when our marriage was first arranged. My uncle has given it to me, minus the portion he spent to cover his own debts, to do with as I see fit. Please accept this for the good of your abbey and to help cover my sister’s living expenses while she is here,” she says, handing the purse to the abbess.

Mother Maria takes it graciously, then smiles at the young woman. “You truly are a kind and giving soul, just as Benvolio said,” she says. “I will pray that you remain so. It is a difficult and noble thing, to be kind when everyone around you is ugly and cruel. Present company excepted, of course.”

“Thank you,” Rosaline says, curtseying.

“Oh, no, Child, we are family,” Mother Maria replies, then leans forward and hugs her as warmly as she did Benvolio hours before. Then she hugs him once more, and says, “Your parents would be proud of the man you have finally become.”

Benvolio blushes, realizing his great aunt somehow knows a great deal more than she lets on. “Thank you. It means a lot to hear that,” he says.

“That is why I said it,” she responds with a smile. “Safe travels, and look after your wife.” She hugs him again, and whispers in his ear, “You will be a wonderful father. This I know.”

“Thank you,” he repeats, blinking back tears now. “Take good care of Livia,” he says, then turns towards his wife, placing his hand on the small of her back as they walk towards their horses.

xXx

“How could she know though?” Rosaline asks once they are a short distance from the Abbey. “My stomach is still flat and she has never met me before to even be able to see any sort of change.”

Benvolio shrugs. “I am just as baffled as you, Beloved. All I know is she is wise and has seen many things in her life. Somehow she was able to tell, I suppose.”

“It is a bit disconcerting,” she replies.

“I doubt very much that any of our acquaintances in Verona will be able to tell,” he says. “They are all far too wrapped up in themselves to truly take notice of others. Generally speaking, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoes, laughing. “Even so, I would like to keep the news to ourselves for a little while.”

“Certainly, but may I ask why?” he asks, slowing his horse.

Rosaline follows suit, looking at her husband, trying to decide the best way to phrase her thoughts, the best way to say what she wants to say without frightening him. “Because the most common time for… misfortune to befall a pregnancy is in the early months,” she finally answers.

Benvolio blinks, letting that information sink in. “Ah. Very well then,” he replies at length. As Rosaline sets her mare back into motion, he follows promptly, asking, “Are you certain you should be riding a horse right now?”

Rosaline sighs, knowing this would happen. “It is fine, Montague. Besides, do you not think it is a trifle late to be asking such a question?”

“Oh. Well. Quite,” he replies. “But once we are home, no more horse riding.”

She just gives him a sideways look and encourages her horse to move a little faster.

“Rosaline!”

xXx

They reach Verona’s gates at sunset, tired and hungry. They decided not to stop for a bite of dinner in favor of getting home. Even if home is covered in dust, draped in cloths, and in a state of disrepair and neglect. Fina packed them enough food to last for three days, it seemed, so it did not even matter that there is no actual food at home.

Because it is _their_ home. Not Lord Damiano’s, not Lord Sylvestro’s. Theirs.

Rosaline smiles over at Benvolio as they cross through the gates. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words never make their way out.

“Halt!”

Royal guards appear before them, seeming to materialize from thin air. Their horses nearly rear up, startled by the sudden stop.

“I—”

“Benvolio Montague, you are under arrest,” the lead guard says, leveling his sword at him. “Come down from your horse or we will bring you down.”

“What is the charge?” Rosaline loudly asks, squaring her shoulders.

“Ma’am?”

“If you are arresting him, you have to tell him _why_ ,” she says, her tone conveying exactly what she thinks of the lead guard’s intelligence level.

“He is under arrest for theft,” the guard answers.

Beside her, she hears Benvolio mutter his uncle’s name with a curse before beginning to swing his leg over. Clearly he is so accustomed to this kind of cruel treatment from his uncle that he no longer thinks to question it.

Rosaline, however, does. "Don’t you dare get down off of that horse,” she sternly says, noting how none of the guards have made a move to follow through with the lead guard’s earlier threat. Benvolio stills, watching his wife with interest and admiration.

“Lady Montague, your husband must come with us,” the guard says.

“What has he stolen?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“Lord Damiano Montague has reported a large quantity of money missing from his estate, coinciding with the young lord’s departure several weeks ago,” the guard answers.

Rosaline glares down at him and Benvolio swears he sees the man lose a little bit of his nerve. “Benvolio did not steal anything that did not already belong to him,” she declares. “He is the rightful Lord Montague, not Lord Damiano.” At the guard’s confused look, she continues. “Or do you consider murder to be a lesser crime than theft?”

“My lady, I do not know what you are—”

“What is the delay? The prince is waiting! Bring him down from that horse at once!” a louder, more authoritative voice sounds, and an older, more decorated guard comes forward.

“Captain, Lady Monta—”

“I do not care. Our orders are to arrest Benvolio Montague as soon as he is spotted entering the city. Obey your orders,” the captain barks.

Rosaline looks helplessly on as Benvolio climbs down from Pluto, not willing to suffer the humiliation of being bodily pulled down. He hands the reins to her, giving her that lost puppy look she thought had been erased from his face.

“I _will_ fix this,” she says. “You are innocent, and I will see to it that justice is done.” As she says these words, Benvolio is put in chains.

“I love you, Capulet,” he calls as he is led away.

“It’s Montague, you dolt,” she answers, her voice breaking as she helplessly watches the guards lead him to the palace.

Then she sets her horse into motion.


	9. Chapter 9

Rosaline doesn’t want to go to the Capulet villa, but she needs someone to look after Benvolio’s horse and that is her only option. She leads Pluto through the gates, her eyes peeled, looking for a friendly face.

“Marco,” she whispers, happy to see her father’s former driver. Someone she trusts. She calls to him, urgently waving him over.

“Lady Rosaline!” he exclaims. “What… where is your husband?”

“He has been arrested under false charges,” she says. “Please, Marco, would you look after his horse and our things? I must go to the palace and speak with the prince immediately.”

“Yes, yes, of course… I will be discreet, obviously,” he promises her before she even asks.

“I do not think my uncle will mind so much anymore, but thank you. Here,” she says, handing over the reins, “his name is Pluto and he responds best to a gentle hand.” She also gives him a few bags from her own horse. They are heavy with the coins from the small chest, which they distributed amongst their baggage. “I will return as quickly as I can,” she adds, turning Marigold to head back out.

“Yes, my lady,” Marco replies, reaching up to gently pat Pluto’s massive nose as he watches Rosaline ride away.

She quickly makes her way to the palace, riding at speed through the gates, ignoring the protests from the guards there. She dismounts, hastily secures her horse, and marches up the steps.

“Lady Cap—Montague!” Mateo’s voice calls out to her and she whirls around.

“Where is Prince Escalus?” she demands, her voice and eyes full of fire.

“He is in the throne room, but—”

Rosaline turns and strides in that direction, ignoring his protests. As each minute passes, the angrier she becomes.

Good.

She is stopped by guards at the doors.

“Open the doors,” she demands, staring them each down in turn.

“The prince’s instructions—”

“I do not care. Open. The doors.”

“Lady Montague,” Mateo catches up to her, breathing heavily. “What is this about?”

“Benvolio was _arrested_ the second we arrived in town!” she exclaims. “His treacherous uncle had him arrested for stealing money… money that Lord Damiano only had because he _killed Benvolio’s father!_ His money – and title – are rightfully my husband’s!”

Mateo stares at her for about two seconds. “Open the doors,” he orders the guards. When they hesitate, he adds, “Now.”

They open the doors, and Rosaline says, “Thank you,” to Mateo before entering. She sees Escalus and Isabella in the front, speaking with a man she does not recognize.

“Mateo, what is the meaning of this—oh, Lady Rosaline, I was not expecting you,” Escalus says. He doesn’t look terribly pleased to see her.

“Weren’t you?” she replies. “You have my husband _arrested_ and you do not expect to see me?”

“I—”

“Benvolio has done nothing wrong,” she interrupts. “The money he allegedly stole is rightfully his.”

“Lord Montague is the head of the Montague House, and therefore—”

“He is only the head of the House because he murdered his brother. Benvolio’s father,” Rosaline says. “In truth, Lord Damiano Montague should be the one in your dungeons right now, not Lord Benvolio Montague.”

Escalus’ jaw clenches. “That is a serious accusation.”

“It is the truth,” she replies, lifting her chin. “You have my word.”

“Do you have proof?”

That rankles her. “You no longer trust my word?” she asks, taking another step forward. “It was good enough for you before. Now, since I chose to marry Benvolio instead of you, you have questioned my truthfulness twice.”

“Twice?”

“You had to send Signor Mateo to Vigasio to confirm we rescued Livia, and now you do not trust that I am speaking the truth about Lord Montague!”

“I… It is just… Murder is a very serious accusation,” he stammers. “Especially when you are accusing someone as eminent as Lord Montague.”

“By ‘eminent’ you mean ‘wealthy’. And when it was Benvolio who was wrongfully accused, you trusted my word that _he_ did not commit that crime. The crime of murder,” she points out.

“That is different,” Escalus says.

“How?” Isabella interjects, no longer able to remain silent. She knows Rosaline as well as her brother does, perhaps even better, and knows that she would not lie about something this serious.

“Isabella,” Rosaline says, turning to face her old friend. “Lady Tessa Montague… you share regular correspondence with her, yes?”

“Yes, she has been a mentor to me in many things. I do not always agree with her rather… ruthless advice, but she has a sharp mind,” Isabella answers.

“Would you contact her to see if she will confirm my claim? It was Lady Tessa who told my husband this news when he was in prison, thinking he was about to be executed. And when Benvolio confronted his uncle, Lord Montague did not deny it. Since Prince Escalus seems to need more proof, perhaps she could be persuaded to provide it,” Rosaline says, her voice growing bitter at the end.

Isabella thinks for a moment. “I will have to give my word that she will not be punished for being complicit in this crime,” she replies, “but yes, of course I will.”

“Isabella, this is a waste—”

“Escalus, you are being jealous and unreasonable,” Isabella snaps. “You can keep Benvolio in the dungeons until we hear from Lady Tessa if you must, but you _will_ not do anything else to him until that time.”

“He is not going anywhere,” he firmly answers, not looking at Rosaline.

“You are… truly married? To Benvolio Montague?” Isabella asks, stepping down from the dais, approaching Rosaline to speak privately with her. “And you… refused Escalus?” she adds in a low voice.

“Yes. I can hardly believe it myself,” Rosaline replies. “Truly and completely wed,” she pointedly adds, turning her gaze on Escalus as her hand strays over her stomach in a very telling gesture.

Isabella’s eyes widen. “Already?” she whispers.

Rosaline nods. “May I go see him?”

“Yes, of course. Mateo will take you. Mateo,” Isabella calls, and the aide steps forward. “Take Lady Montague to the dungeons to see her husband. Let her stay as long as she wishes, and she may come and go as she likes.”

“Yes, your grace,” Mateo answers with a bow.

As Rosaline and Mateo exit the throne room, she hears Isabella’s voice once more.

“I apologize for the interruption, gentlemen. But if you will excuse me, I have an urgent letter to write.”

xXx

“Rosaline!” Benvolio exclaims as soon as he sees her. She rushes to him and they kiss through the cell bars. “This feels familiar,” he says with a mirthless laugh as he rests his forehead against hers.

“But this time I am sure I will get you out of here,” she replies, kissing him again. “Isabella is going to write to your aunt and implore her to confirm that your uncle killed your father. Then your uncle will be the one in this… awful place instead of you.”

“If she will speak on my behalf,” he says, not very hopeful. He pulls away from her, but still holds her hand.

“Isabella is going to assure her she will not be implicated in the crime,” she explains. “Hopefully that will do the trick.”

“You do not know my aunt. She makes Damiano look like an amateur,” he says. “Even if she does help me, it will come with a price.”

“We will simply cross that bridge when we get to it,” she says. “I need to remain confident. I must, because the alternative is… unacceptable.” Her free hand falls onto her stomach again, and he notices.

“Oh, God, Rosaline, are you all right?” he asks, his voice suddenly urgent and full of concern. “This is far too stressful for you right now. You should be resting, not standing here in this dank place.”

“I am fine, Benvolio,” she assures him. “I am tired, but fine.”

“Tired,” he repeats. “Which is why you should be _resting_.”

“How can I rest when you are here? For a crime you did not commit!” She throws her hands in the air, briefly walking away.

“Well, in truth, I _did_ take the money…”

“Montague,” she levelly says, turning and giving him a look that makes his mouth snap shut.

“But it was _my_ money,” he says after a moment.

“Correct,” she agrees with a nod. Then she sighs and shakes her head. “I cannot believe that man.”

“My uncle?” he guesses.

“Yes. How he could do this to you…”

“He has always treated me… poorly,” Benvolio says, frowning.

“I know. It is one of the few things we have in common,” Rosaline answers, moving closer to him once more. She threads her fingers through his.

“Did you aunt and uncle beat you?” he asks, his voice soft, like he is afraid to know the answer.

Her eyes widen in surprise. “No… my aunt was cruel with her words. More so to me than Livia, for which I am a bit grateful, but she never struck me. Her words were hurtful enough.” She angles her head at him. “Benvolio…?”

“Yes. Yes he did. Many times. Romeo tried to stop him, but…” he trails off, shaking his head. He chuckles without any humor at all, then adds, “In a way, I suppose I should be thanking him.”

“What?” Rosaline exclaims. “Benvolio, don’t—”

“I wouldn’t be the fighter I am today if it weren’t for him,” Benvolio finishes. Spoken aloud, the words sound lame. He meets his wife’s eyes, taking in her expression of shock and anger on his behalf, and says, “You’re right. That’s ridiculous.”

“Yes. It is,” she definitively says. “You are finding a way to excuse his inexcusable behavior.”

He sighs. “It is what I would always tell myself as a way of coping,” he explains. “But saying it aloud, to you…” he shakes his head again. He reaches up through the bars and lays his hand on her cheek, gently caressing her soft skin with his thumb. “You will get me out of here,” he pronounces. “I know it. You have never failed me before—”

“That’s not entirely true,” she reminds him.

His brow furrows for a moment, then he remembers how Paris pressed her into lying by threatening her sister’s life. “Yes, but that wasn’t your fault. You had no choice… had I been in your position, I would have done the same,” he says, waving his free hand as if it does not matter. “You came through for me when my life was nearly forfeit, and I have faith that you will this time as well.” He leans his head through the bars and she moves forward to meet him.

The kiss is soft and plaintive, full of love and trust. They slowly separate but stay close, foreheads touching.

“Have they given you any food?” she asks, her own hunger suddenly making itself almost painfully apparent, no doubt amplified by the child growing within her.

He laughs, pecking her lips. “An extremely hard crust of bread and some dried meat that has seen better days,” he answers, stepping back but taking hold of her hand.

“I will bring you something. Better yet, I will bring enough for both of us and eat here with you,” she promises. “The guards are under the princess’ orders to allow me to come and go as I please,” she adds, seeing his confused look.

“Just promise me one thing, Beloved,” he says.

“Of course,” she answers.

“You will get some sleep tonight. In a proper bed,” he replies, his voice level and expression serious.

She only pauses a moment before saying, “Very well. I will probably have to sleep in my old room at my uncle’s house, but for you, I will get some rest.”

“For our child,” he clarifies.

“For both of you.”

xXx

Lord Sylvestro Capulet was surprisingly hospitable towards his niece when she entered his house later that night. She had purchased some food from an inn close to the palace and brought it to have a small dungeon picnic with her husband. By the time they were done the hour had grown quite late and Benvolio insisted she leave him there, reminding her of her promise.

Rosaline reluctantly left after more kisses and murmurs of “I love you” and much as she wanted to go to her family home – their _new_ home as man and wife – she knew that the wise thing to do was to return to her uncle’s villa.

“Rosaline, I heard about what happened to that Mont—your husband,” Lord Capulet says. Apart from stumbling over Benvolio’s name, his sympathy seems in earnest.

“News still travels fast in Verona, I see,” she noncommittally replies, heading for the staircase. “I hope you do not mind my staying here,” she adds, turning back. “We had intended to open up my parents’ old home, per the prince’s orders, but, circumstances being what they are…”

“Of course, of course,” he answers, a little too quickly and too eagerly to be called anything other than _awkward._ “Stay as long as you need.”

“I do not intend to stay long,” she replies, her tone sharper than she really intends. “I’m sorry. I’m very tired, and my husband is in jail, and…” she sighs. “I can see you are trying, but it is difficult to simply let bygones be bygones after years of cruel and indifferent treatment.” He opens his mouth, then closes it again, and she continues. “I am simply ready to move on with my life, with my husband. The time of Capulets and Montagues is nearing an end, Uncle. Those names mean nothing to us… we simply want to be ourselves, in our own home, living our own lives, with our child.”

Capulet blinks. “Ch-child?”

Rosaline stiffens, realizing her words. She hadn’t intended to tell him so soon. “Yes, Uncle. I am carrying Benvolio’s child. So if you want your grandchild to be able to grow up with a father – something Benvolio was denied – you will do all you can to help prove his innocence and put Lord Montague in prison where  _he_ belongs,” she says. “Now if you will excuse me, I am exhausted and I promised my husband I would sleep.” She turns and starts up the stairs.

“Rosaline,” Lord Capulet calls, and she turns. “I… I do not believe that young Benvolio deserves to be in jail. I never did,” he stiltedly says.

She looks at him, wondering what it was he really wanted to say. “Thank you,” she replies, then continues up to her old room.

xXx

The next morning, Rosaline woke with her mind spinning. What was supposed to have been a quiet return to the city, their time spent making their house a home once again, has turned into a familiar nightmare.

Benvolio, innocent, in the dungeon. Rosaline trying very hard to prove his innocence.

Rosaline paces, not even dressed for the day yet, debating her options. She knows the first thing she will do is bring some proper breakfast to her husband. After that, she doesn’t know. She  _does_ know that it is likely too soon to expect a response from Lady Tessa, but she really wants to be around when the message arrives.

There is a soft knock on her door, and she stops pacing. “Yes?”

“Lady Rosaline, do you require any assistance this morning?” a voice asks through the door.

She wants a bath. She wants a bath and a very large breakfast. She wants a bath, a very large breakfast, and a day spent lounging in her dressing gown, reading books.

She sighs and goes to the door. “Would you be so good as to pack a hearty breakfast for two? I wish to take it to my husband.”

“Yes, my lady,” the maidservant answers, clearly having been told to comply with whatever Rosaline asks. She curtseys and hurries down the stairs.

Rosaline quickly dresses. When she arrives downstairs, the basket is waiting for her. As she picks it up, her uncle appears in the foyer.

“Rosaline, do you have a moment?” he asks.

“Not now,” she answers. “I am on my way to the palace to bring some breakfast to Benvolio. I do not know when I will be back.”

“Rosaline—”

“I am in haste, Uncle,” she interjects. “Perhaps tonight.”

Lord Capulet stands, dumbfounded, staring at his own front door that has just been slammed in his face.

xXx

Benvolio is grateful for the breakfast, but insists that Rosaline not spend her entire day down in the dungeon with him.

“It is cold and damp down here,” he says. “Not good for you or the baby. Why don’t you go to the house? See if you can at least prepare the bedroom so you have your own place to sleep.”

Rosaline, stubborn to the last, purses her lips. “What if your aunt’s message comes when I am away?”

“I’m sure the princess will send for you immediately,” he replies. His eyes drift downward then, his gaze coming to land on her stomach. “You should see the midwife,” he recommends. “Just to make certain all is well.”

She can’t argue that, and reluctantly leaves him (and the breakfast leftovers) to go and see the midwife.

By the time she returns to the palace with her clean bill of health and confirmation that she is most definitely with child, there is still no message from Lady Tessa.

Isabella seemed to be of like mind with Benvolio, because she too urged Rosaline to go to her home. “I will even send some of my personal servants with you to assist,” she says. “I will send for you the moment the reply comes, I promise,” she adds. Then, drawing close to her old friend, she whispers, “I have been trying to get Escalus to see reason. His petty jealousy is waning, but he still wishes for proof.”

Rosaline impulsively hugs the princess and says, “Thank you. For everything.”

Isabella steps back, keeping her hands on Rosaline’s shoulders, and answers, “You are most welcome. Know that there is no doubt in my mind that you are telling the truth about Lord Montague.”

“Thank you,” Rosaline repeats. “That means a lot to me.”

“I know of no one more honest and truthful than Rosaline Capulet,” Isabella replies. “Montague,” she amends, smiling slightly and shaking her head.

xXx

Time seems to pass slowly, just to taunt Rosaline. Working is the only thing keeping her sane. The servants Isabella sent to help are pleasant and extremely capable, and by the time Rosaline feels herself going mad from the suspense of waiting on Tessa’s reply, it is evening and she is hungry. She thanks the servants for their help and sends them back to their mistress.

She looks around, surveying what they accomplished. “I cannot wait to tell Benvolio,” she whispers to herself, then heads out to find some dinner to bring him.

She arrives at the palace a short time later, basket in hand. The guards have gotten so accustomed to seeing her that they scarcely glance in her direction anymore.

When she reaches Benvolio’s cell, he is lying on a thin pallet – little more than a blanket – facing the wall.

“Benvolio?”

He turns, slowly sitting up. “Rosaline,” he says, looking up at her. After only a day, he already looks pale, and though he is smiling at her, his eyes are sad.

“Do not give up hope, Husband,” she says, setting her basket down. She swallows her own anxiety, choosing to adopt an optimistic demeanor for his sake. “I honestly did not expect to receive a prompt answer from Lady Tessa,” she assures him, carefully passing a plate heaped with roasted chicken and vegetables on it through the bars. A stool has been placed beside his cell, courtesy of Isabella no doubt, and she sits opposite him.

“I honestly do not expect to receive an answer from her at all,” he admits. “I would be very surprised if she would lift a quill to save my neck.”

Benvolio’s despair makes Rosaline want to weep. “Well, we do not know exactly how Isabella posed the question to her, so perhaps fortune will be on our side,” she says.

He looks at her, his forlorn expression softening some. “Your optimism gives me strength,” he says. He reaches out and lays his hand on her cheek.

She leans into his touch, his hand cold and rough, but welcome all the same. She turns her face and kisses his palm. “Eat,” she instructs. “You need to keep your strength. I have a lot of work for you at home.”

His eyebrows rise. “Have you been there?” he asks, then remembers her other errand. “Oh! Did you see the midwife?”

“Yes, I did; I’m sorry, I should have said straight away,” she answers. “I am definitely with child and in extremely good health.”

“Nothing amiss then?” he asks.

“Did you not hear me just now?” she counters, unable to help herself. She has admitted to herself that she does love verbally sparring with him, and hasn’t gotten an opportunity to do so in too long.

He blinks in surprise, his lips twitching into a slight smile. “I heard you just fine, Capulet. Just making certain you aren’t being unnecessarily brave for my benefit,” he replies.

She takes a bite of food, then angles her head at him and says, “You think I would choose now to stop being truthful with you?” She makes a tutting noise. “The dampness down here must be seeping into your brain.”

“I am sure that must be it,” he says, truly laughing for the first time since he has been imprisoned. It is not a large laugh, but it feels good nevertheless. He gives her a soft gaze and says, “I do so love you.”

“And I love you,” she replies. “And that is why I need you to not give up hope. We will see that justice is done.”

Benvolio sets his plate aside and pointedly leans towards Rosaline until she discerns his intentions and leans in to receive his kiss.

He allows his hand to linger at her cheek for a moment after they part. “I cannot stay imprisoned… I simply cannot. I need to be there for my son,” he whispers.

“Or daughter,” she gently reminds him.

“Yes. Or daughter,” he amends, his smile telling her that he would be just as happy with a baby girl as he would with a boy.

xXx

Rosaline is summoned the next morning. She slept at their new home, largely because she simply _could_.  As Benvolio suggested, the master bedroom was the first room she cleaned and prepared for just that reason. She figured she could make do with the rest of the house in shambles as long as she – they – had a place to sleep at night.

Luckily, she was already up and dressed when Mateo came knocking.

“Lady Montague, Princess Isabella requests your presence,” he says, bowing.

She nods without a word and follows him to the carriage.

They ride in silence, Rosaline too anxious to make small talk. She stares out the window, pondering the one question she and Benvolio had avoided asking:  _What do we do if Tessa refuses to help?_

She is unable to come up with an answer more satisfactory than “Try to convince Escalus again.” And that isn’t satisfactory at all.

“My lady, we are here,” Mateo quietly comments, drawing Rosaline out of her reverie.

“Forgive me; I hadn’t noticed we stopped,” she murmurs her reply as she exits.

He leads her to the throne room, where the prince and princess are waiting. Rosaline can tell nothing from Isabella’s blank expression. Escalus is scowling, but as he generally is these days, it is no help either.

She curtseys, then walks forward, her heart pounding.

“Good morning, Lady Rosaline,” Isabella greets, her voice pleasant and even.

“Good morning, your grace,” Rosaline replies, nodding respectfully at first Isabella, then Escalus. It is becoming increasingly more difficult to remain still and composed.

“I know you must be anxious, so I will get straight to the point,” Isabella says, holding up a scroll. “Lady Tessa has opted to keep her silence on the matter of Giacomo Montague,” she says. “I am so sorry, Rosaline, but even though I promised her immunity, she says she will not betray her brother’s trust.”

Rosaline presses her lips together and closes her eyes, unable to stop the tears as they roll down her cheeks. She knew this was a possibility, a nd a s much as she tried to pretend it wouldn’t happen, she knew it could. Suddenly, Mother Maria Elizabetta’s prophetic warning replays in her mind:  _I caution you to tread carefully when dealing with Damiano and Tessa. A craftier pair of snakes I have never seen._ She bows her head, sniffles, then reaches for her handkerchief. “Thank you for trying, your grace,” she finally says, her voice soft and hoarse.

“I am truly sorry, Rosaline,” Isabella replies, stepping down to cross to her old friend. “Apparently I was foolish to think she would cooperate simply because it was I who asked.” She lays her hand on Rosaline’s shoulder, and says, “She must be more afraid of Lord Damiano than she is of incarceration. What a beast he must be.”

“You have no idea,” Rosaline responds. Isabella’s eyebrow rises, intrigued, and Rosaline says, “He is an abusive, power-hungry brute who achieved his status through deception and violence. And I am not just saying that because I am a Capulet. Those are my husband’s words. My husband, who has spent his entire life suffering both physically and emotionally at the hands of that man. My husband, who even now sits in a dungeon because of that man’s cruelty and greed!” By the time she is done, she is shouting, fat tears streaming down her face. “Damiano Montague is a murderer and a thief and _he_ should be the one imprisoned, _not_ Benvolio!”

“Rosaline—” Escalus starts, but she doesn’t let him continue.

“No!” she interjects, wheeling on him, an accusatory finger pointed in his direction. “You have held your tongue thus far; you do not get to loosen it now! If you were able to look past your own selfish jealousy and see the truth for what it is, this whole situation could have been avoided!”

Then she turns and runs from the throne room, heading for the dungeons.

She has no idea what she is going to say to Benvolio, but she needs to see him.

xXx

“I knew she would not help.” Benvolio speaks before Rosaline even says anything. He took one look at her and immediately knew.

She stands before him, broken and defeated, tears in her eyes, _again_ , and says, “I have failed you once more.”

He reaches out and takes her hands. “No, no, no…” he immediately assures her, kissing her hands and shaking his head. “Never. It is Tessa who has failed me, not you.” He kisses her fingertips. “Never you.”

“Thank you for your confidence in me, but it is difficult for me to agree with you. I…” she sighs. “My failure was my inability to remember that not everyone values the truth as much as we do.” She sniffles and adds, “Your great aunt warned us.”

“She did,” he remembers, nodding. “And it may seem like small consolation now, but we can take heart in the knowledge that Damiano and Tessa will be have to answer for their actions when they reach their Final Judgment.”

She nods. “I know. It’s just—”

“Rosaline.” A different voice interrupts her, and they turn their surprised eyes towards Lord Sylvestro Capulet, standing near the entrance to the corridor.

“Uncle, what…?”

“Please, Niece. I need to speak with you,” he says, taking a step inside. “Both of you.”

“Lady Tessa refused to confirm Lord Montague’s guilt,” she quietly tells him.

“I know,” he replies as he approaches the cell. “I knew she would not help.”

She stares at him, shocked. “Uncle… what do you know?”

“I know that Damiano killed Giacomo. I have always known.”


	10. Chapter 10

“ _Where are you off to now?” Giuliana Capulet demanded, shouting from her bed. Her pregnancy has been difficult and fraught with problems, and both the midwife and the physician have insisted she spend the remainder of the term in bed, resting._

“ _I am meeting with Giacomo. We are close to reaching a resolution to this ridiculous feud,” Sylvestro replied, pausing in the doorway. Seeing her glowering at him, he sighs, walks in, and kisses her forehead. “I will not be late. He has a young son,_ _and now that his wife is gone,_ _does not wish to be out late any more than I do.”_

“ _Hmph. This is a pointless endeavor; you know that, right? Just because you and Giacomo Montague can find a way to get along does not mean that the rest of our families will be willing to set aside generations of bad blood,” she complained._

“ _We are the heads of our Houses,” Sylvestro replied. “If –_ when _– we come to an agreement, our families will have_ _no choice but_ _to follow our example.”_

“ _If you say so,” Giuliana responded, picking up a book she had set aside. “When you return, you can sleep in the east guest room,” she declared, obviously done with both the conversation and her husband._

_He said nothing and headed out. He’d been sleeping in the east guest room for the past month, so he is not surprised. In fact, he wondered why she felt the need to specifically mention it. He didn’t want to share her bed any more than she did wth him._

_They had played at being married only until Giuliana became pregnant. Then she abruptly turned cold and distant (well, colder and more distant), and was often critical and shrewish._

_So lost in thought was he that he did not immediately notice that Giacomo Montague was not at the tavern. Montague was always remarkably punctual. Sylvestro had expected him to be at least halfway through his first flagon of ale by the time he arrived._

“ _Excuse me,” he called to the barman. “Has Lord Montague been in this evening?”_

_He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to know, Lord Capulet?” he asked, clearly suspicious._

“ _We had an appointment to meet here at eight. It is now five minutes past,” Sylvestro explained._

“ _Haven’t seen him today,” the barman answered. “He’s only five minutes late; perhaps you should give him another five.”_

“ _Giacomo Montague is never late,” Sylvestro countered._

“ _You sure you got the right place?”_

“ _Yes. I chose it.”_

“ _Maybe he’s got the wrong place then,” the barman replied with a shrug._

“ _Possibly, but I highly doubt it.”_

“ _Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you, my lord.”_

_Capulet did indeed give his companion another five minutes, but after that, he left, heading towards the Montague villa._

_His attention was drawn to the lights in the windows on the second floor of the large estate, so he did not see the small cloaked figure until he ran smack into him._

_Her._

“ _Oh, I do beg your pardon, signorina,” he immediately apologized, ducking his head to try and see the woman’s face, his hands lightly supporting her elbows in a steadying gesture._

_She tried to avoid his gaze, turning away, but he was too quick._

“ _Lady Tessa?” he asked, and instead of answering, she tore away from him and took off at a brisk walk down the street. Sylvestro turned to watch her flee, puzzled. “Strange,” he muttered, then headed up the walkway to the villa._

_No one answered when he knocked. He knocked again. And a third time. Remembering the light in the window, he tried the door and found it unlocked._

_The house was strangely silent. “Hello?” he called. “Giacomo?” Nothing. He took another step inside, listening intently as he made for the staircase. “Giacomo? Are you all right? It is me, Sylvestro,” he called as he climbed the steps, wondering where the servants were._

_As he walked down the corridor towards the lit window, he thought he heard something, but wasn’t completely sure._

“ _Giacomo?” he called again._

“ _Syl…”_

_The voice was weak, but audible, and Lord Capulet hurried towards it. He found Giacomo Montague on the floor beside his desk, a goblet of wine spilled beside him._

“ _Giacomo!” he exclaimed, hurrying towards him. “What happened?” he asked, trying to help him sit up._

“ _No…” Montague weakly protested. “There is nothing to be done… leave me.”_

“ _Where are your servants? We need to send for the physician!” Capulet asked, still hoping to be able to save him._

“ _Sylvestro…” Giacomo gasped, “listen to me. I’m—” he broke off, coughing, blood rising to his lips. “Poison,” he managed to get out. “Damiano.”_

“ _Damiano poisoned you?” Sylvestro asked, his eyes wide. He wanted to ask why, but he realized he knew why and didn’t need to waste the last few minutes of the man’s life asking unnecessary questions._

_Giacomo, his face growing a ghastly white, could only nod. “Sylv… my… my son…”_

_Sylvestro leaned in, trying to hear these final words, which sounded like they could have been instructions for the man’s young son._

“ _Murderer!”_

_Capulet turned his head to see the scowling face of Damiano Montague in the doorway. Though he was scowling, he somehow still managed to look like the cat that got the canary._

_When he turned back, Giacomo Montague was dead._

xXx

“It was then that I realized there was no way the truth would be believed,” Lord Capulet finishes, head bowed in shame, standing in the middle of the throne room.

“You had the bad luck to provide him with a convenient scapegoat should you decide to publicly accuse him,” Rosaline says, understanding.

Capulet nods. “I left Giacomo lying there and stood, facing him. He simply looked at me and said, ‘Go ahead. Tell the Prince. What do you think he is going to believe? That I killed my  _beloved_ brother, or that a Capulet murdered a Montague and tried to cover it up by accusing another Montague? He would call you a fool and then arrest you.’ Then, just to make certain, he threatened to destroy all that I had… Giuliana was with child… he took great delight in explaining in great detail how he would cut my unborn child from my wife’s womb, killing them both.” He shakes his head. “I felt like a coward, but I had to protect my family. Myself.”

“And was that Lady Tessa you saw outside the villa?” Escalus asks, glancing at Isabella, who, as usual, is unreadable.

“Of course it was. She may not have been the one to administer the poison, but she was involved, I’ve no doubt of that,” Lord Capulet replies.

“She would have provided the poison.” Benvolio’s voice is soft and hoarse, and surprises everyone. He’s been silent and nearly motionless since they arrived in the throne room, standing shackled beside his wife.

“Probably,” Isabella agrees.

As if hearing Benvolio speak reminds Lord Capulet of his presence, he turns towards the younger lord. “Benvolio,” he says, “please forgive me for my cowardice. I know I do not deserve your forgiveness any more than you deserved the abuse you suffered at Damiano’s hands, but still I must ask.”

Benvolio looks at him, so many different emotions cycling through him. He knows this man did not intend to do him harm by keeping his silence. But he also knows he allowed his awful wife to treat Rosaline horribly. However, he is trying to mend his ways, no matter how belatedly. He doesn’t think Lord Capulet is truly a bad man. He seems to be a victim of this stupid feud, just like himself and Rosaline. Finally, he reaches a decision. “I forgive you, Lord Capulet. When I look on you, I do not feel anger so much as I feel pity.” He uncomfortably flexes his shoulders, his hands still shackled behind his back.

“Thank you,” Capulet exhales, clearly relieved to have been granted this grace. “I am learning to do better. You have my promise in this.”

“I know Rosaline will hold you accountable,” Benvolio says, looking at his wife.

“Indeed,” Capulet agrees.

There is a moment of silence, then all eyes turn towards Escalus, staring expectantly at him.

“Unchain him,” the prince says, waving at a guard. “Unchain him and go and arrest the elder Lord Montague. Have him thrown in the same cell that held his nephew.”

As soon as the shackles are off of Benvolio’s wrists, Rosaline is in his arms in a tight hug. She doesn’t care that he is dirty and smelly. He’s free.

“Isabella, send a reply to Lady Tessa. Tell her that if she sets foot inside Verona, she will be arrested,” Escalus says.

“Yes, of course. I have been looking for a way to end my relationship with her anyway. This will provide me just the opportunity I need,” she replies.

“Lord Montague,” Escalus says. “Benvolio,” he presses when his words were unheeded the first time.

Benvolio tears his attention away from Rosaline. “Yes, your grace,” he replies, straightening his shoulders.

“You are now the head of House Montague,” Escalus says. “I expect you to do a better job of it than your uncle.”

Benvolio glances at Rosaline, who gives him an encouraging nod. “The time of Montagues  versus Capulets is over,” he says. “It is time for this feud to become nothing more than an unpleasant memory. I will sell my uncle’s villa, letting it pass into neutral hands, while Rosaline and I begin our new lives together in  _our_ home.” He turns towards Lord Capulet. “My lord, I will make it known to my kin that the feud is over if you agree to do the same.”

“I will do so immediately,” Capulet answers with no hesitation. “I am tired and old. I only wish for quiet and relaxation. And that my forthcoming grandchild will be fortunate enough to have a peaceful upbringing as the first child of both Capulet _and_ Montague blood in Verona’s history.”

Apparently Escalus had not heard Rosaline’s earlier exchange with Isabella, as he looks quite shocked to hear the news of Rosaline’s pregnancy.

“Child?” he quietly asks.

“Yes,” Rosaline simply answers. She takes a step towards him and gently says, “Escalus. What we had between us… it is over. You need to accept your fault in this, let me go, and move on with your life. Find another to love if you wish, but you cannot continue to delude yourself like this. It is not healthy. I will always be your friend, but if you ever truly loved me, I would ask that you simply be happy that I am happy.”

Escalus looks down at his feet for a long moment. “ Congratulations,” he finally says, raising his head. “Both of you. I know your child will be loved.”

Before either of them can reply, the sounds of shouting reaches their ears.

“This is preposterous! You have no proof! I demand—”

Damiano Montague stops shouting when he locks eyes with Sylvestro Capulet, standing there with Benvolio and Rosaline.

“This man is a liar,” he accuses. “Believe nothing he has told you.”

“How do you know he has told us anything?” Isabella asks.

“I—”

Escalus stands. “Lord Damiano Montague, you are under arrest for the murder of Lord Giacomo Montague. You are henceforth stripped of your title and will surrender all of your assets to the rightful Lord Montague, Benvolio.” He looks at the guards flanking Damiano and nods. They begin hauling him away towards the dungeons, ignoring all of his blustering protests. “Lord Montague,” he turns towards Benvolio. “Murder is a very serious charge. As you were the person who suffered most as a result of your uncle’s actions, what say you? Do you wish him to be executed for his crimes?”

Rosaline squeezes Benvolio’s hand, telling him that she will support whatever he decides. He takes his time thinking about his answer.

“Let him rot in the dungeon. Give him a good long time to think about his choices,” he decides.

xXx

Benvolio wants nothing more than a good hot bath and to lay his head on his wife’s comfortable lap (to start), but there is much to do before that can happen.

Instead of heading to their home, they go to the soon-to-be-sold Montague Villa and gather all the servants together.

“Signor Benvolio, what is going on? Why has Lord Montague been arrested?” a servant asks. Rosaline recognizes him as the one who greeted her the day she came looking for Benvolio, and notices his attire is just a bit finer than the others. _He must be the head manservant._

“Lord Montague is no longer Lord Montague, Paolo,” Benvolio answers. “I am. My uncle has been stripped of his title and will spend the rest of his days in the royal dungeons for his crimes.” He waits till the mutterings die down before he continues. “He murdered my father in order to usurp the title that should have rightfully been mine.” More mutterings and exclamations come from the servants, and Benvolio holds up his hand to silence them once more. “This villa will be sold, as I will be moving to my new home, with my wife,” he says, gesturing towards Rosaline. “Any among you who wish to remain in my employ are welcome to follow us there, as we will be needing servants.”

The mutterings take on a decidedly lighter tone, but apparently everyone is not pleased with this development.

“My family has served Montague House for generations. I’ll not be serving a Capulet,” an older man loudly declares, practically spitting Rosaline’s family name as he stabs an angry finger in her direction.

Rosaline’s fists unconsciously clench, but Benvolio is nonplussed, clearly having expected some dissension. “Does anyone else feel the same?” he calmly asks, raising his hand slightly, indicating that all those who agree with with the servant who spoke up should raise their hand.

There are several, but fewer than Rosaline expected, and her fists begin to unclench.

Benvolio lowers his hand and says, “If your hand was raised, I commend you for your honesty and hereby release you from my service.” There is a stunned silence and nobody moves. “If you will not serve a Capulet, you will no longer be serve a Montague.” Still, no one moves. “Alessandro, you are dismissed,” he firmly says, addressing the original dissenter. “Take the others with you.” Another pause. “ _Now_ .”

Finally, the handful of people begin moving. Paolo, who apparently had taken a careful look at the people who raised their hands, shepherded a few more out who were hoping to go unnoticed. “Gianna and Luca, you too,” he says, giving them a hard look until they finally slink away. Then he turns around and takes a step forward. He bows slightly, then says, “My lady, you have my loyalty without question. I have not forgotten your kindness the day you came to call upon my lord Benvolio.”

“Thank you,” Rosaline replies, a little taken aback. She didn’t realize she had such an impact on the man.

He seems to sense her bewilderment, and explains. “You treated me like a human being, my lady. Your simple ‘thank you’ that day was more kindness, more basic human decency than I had ever received from Lord Damiano.”

Rosaline had guessed as much, but hearing it confirmed brought tears to her eyes. “I have been a servant myself, Paolo. I understand,” she gently says. “You are most welcome in our new home.”

“Thank you my lady,” he answers. “Thank you, my lord.”

xXx

Benvolio left instructions with Paolo to oversee the relocation of some items from the Montague villa to their new home while he and Rosaline went on to the Capulet villa to retrieve their horses.

Marco begged to come with them, saying Lord Capulet had another driver that was just as capable and he was eager to be back “where he belonged”.

He had also fallen in love with Pluto.

They were met with very little resistance from Lord Capulet, thankfully. He remembered that Marco originally worked for his brother and gave his blessing to allow him return to their old home.

By the time they got to their house, they were hungry and tired. Paolo, apparently extremely eager to make a good impression on his new mistress, had made sure there was food ready when they arrived.

After lunch, baths are finally drawn. Benvolio unblushingly orders that both tubs be brought to the master bedroom, then kicks all the servants out once everything is ready.

“We need to get a large tub with room enough for both of us,” he remarks, pondering the two tubs.

“I wouldn’t bathe with you right now anyway,” Rosaline counters. “You are filthy.”

“You didn’t seem to mind in the carriage,” he says, dropping articles of clothing as he stalks towards her.

“Yes, well, kissing you is one thing,” she answers, backing away and trying not to laugh, “sitting in a tub full of your leavings is _quite_ another.”

He makes no attempt to not laugh, a surprised bark bursting forth at her words. “My  _leavings?_ Oh, Capulet, you do have a way with words,” he says, still grinning as he leans forward and kisses her.

“You stink,” she says, trying unsuccessfully to evade his lips.

“The sweetness of your aroma has faded a bit as well,” he counters, earning him a slap on the shoulder.

“Oh!” she exclaims, huffing in offense. Then she leans down and takes a sniff. “Ugh. You’re right though. Much as I have wanted a bath, I haven’t had time. Vigasio seems an eternity ago now.”

Standing in nothing but his undone breeches, Benvolio begins helping her with her laces, and a minute later, he is holding her hand, steadying her as she sinks down into her tub, which has been scented with perfumed oils and flower petals.

He indulges himself a moment to gaze down at his beautiful wife, her eyes blissfully closed, hair piled in ringlets atop her head, dark skin glistening. He gauges the amount of extra room in her tub and theorizes that he could conceivably squeeze in with her.

“Don’t even think about it,” she says without opening her eyes.

He simply sighs, knowing it futile to protest. He finally allows his trousers to drop and steps into his tub, groaning loudly when he sinks into the hot water. “Oh, I could stay here for the rest of the day,” he says, then turns his head to look over at her. “Almost,” he amends.

She snorts a laugh. “Better get to scrubbing then,” she says, leaning over to pick up a cloth, which she then throws at him.

He catches it and they bathe in companionable silence for a short time. Sounds from the rest of the house occasionally reach them. Talking, the occasional bang of a door or scrape of an item being pushed, but they let nothing trouble them while in their private sanctuary.

“Who would have thought it?” Benvolio muses after a while.

“Hmm?” Rosaline asks, letting her reclined head flop to the side to look over at him. She had finished washing and was relaxing with her eyes closed, letting the perfume of the water soothe her.

“Who would have thought, even… two months ago, that _you_ and _I_ would be here, bathing side by side, _happily married_ , with a child growing inside you? Certainly not me,” he explains.

“You weren’t doing much thinking at all two months ago,” she teases. “But yes, you’re right. I would have laughed at the very notion of it.”

“And probably gone ‘ugh’ as well,” he comments, mimicking her little huff of disgust a little too perfectly.

She looks over at him, eyebrow raised. “Yes, probably,” she agrees after a moment, causing him to laugh once more.

Then he sighs. “It feels good to be able to laugh,” he says, standing. Rosaline watches with obvious interest as the water runs down his slender, well-muscled body, noting the little bits of suds that still cling here and there. “See, Capulet?” he mildly asks, rubbing himself with a towel. “If we hadn’t been forced into this situation, I never would have discovered how funny… you… are…” His words trail off as he notices her looking at him. He tosses his towel aside, then reaches for hers, holding it aloft for her with one hand while extending the other.

She takes his hand and stands. He returns her earlier scrutiny with the same level of interest, only his eyes linger on her stomach for a telling moment before wrapping her in the towel.

“There is nothing showing yet,” she says, resting her hands on his shoulders to steady herself while he gently dries her off. “It will be a couple more months.”

He frowns but nods, moving the towel around her back, then holding the ends with both hands to use it as a sling to pull her towards him.

“I cannot wait,” he whispers just before he kisses her. He begins walking them towards the bed, dropping the towel somewhere along the way. When they reach it, he helps her to lie down, then stretches out beside her. He places his hand over her stomach, softly rubbing slow circles. “I cannot wait to see your belly swell with my child, so everyone knows that I am yours and you are mine.” He moves down and kisses her just below her navel. “So everyone knows that there is finally peace between our families.”

When he looks up again, there are tears in her eyes. She reaches out and caresses his cheek, holding her hand there as he moves back up, tenderly wiping and kissing her tears away.

“Benvolio?” she asks, looking up at him.

“Yes, Beloved?” he returns, kissing her nose.

“Do you think… do you think we could name our child after Juliet or Romeo?” she asks.

“Yes, absolutely,” he immediately answers. “I was thinking the same thing.”

She smiles and places her hands on his cheeks once more, drawing his face down to hers. His kiss is tender and sweet at first, then gradually increases in intensity until he is fully over her and they are completely lost in each other.

He tries to take his time, to show her how much he loves her and hated being parted from her. How happy he is to be not only a free man but free of his uncle’s influence.

But as he trails his lips over her breasts, taking care to keep his attention gentle, remembering they are more sensitive right now, her sly hand closes around his cock and he realizes  _now_ is not the time for slow, reverential lovemaking. At least not for him.

“Rosaline,” he gasps against her neck, “I cannot wait.”

“Good,” she replies, parting her legs wider for him. “I was growing impatient.”

He moves his hand down to position himself but takes a detour to briefly delve into her center. “So I see,” he murmurs, fingers sweeping and circling through the wetness he finds there, drawing a moan from her.

“Benvolio,” she pleads, almost a whine, as she flexes her hips into his hand.

He chuckles, then removes his hand and guides his length into her, swiftly burying himself deep. He drops his forehead against hers, staying still for a moment. “I love you,” he whispers, kisses her, and begins moving, his motions smooth but not slow.

“Mmm,” Rosaline hums, her hands roving anywhere she can reach, reacquainting herself with the feel of him. He is warm and firm and _hers_ , and she loves the feel of him all around and within her.

Benvolio groans, dipping his head to latch his lips onto her neck, finding all the little secret hidden spots he has learned she likes. Her fingers dancing over his skin leave fire in their wake, the small whimpers and moans coming from her mouth are like music, and he knows he is not going to last much longer.

He tears his lips away from hers and leans back enough to reach between them. His thumb finds and circles her slick, sensitive button.

“Ohh…” she moans, hitching her knees higher on his hips.

“Oh… Ros…” he grunts, his rhythm stuttering as his release overtakes him. Thankfully, his extra efforts were not in vain, because she falls right with him, wordlessly crying out as her body bucks beneath him.

She pulls him down over her, wrapping her arms around him, her fingers threading into his hair.

“I’m sorry… I could not…”

“Shh… you don’t need to apologize,” Rosaline says, kissing his temple. “It was perfect.”

Benvolio rolls off of her but tucks her to his side. “Perfect?”

She lifts her head and looks at him. “You’re going to argue  _this_ ?” she asks.

He simply laughs and gently encourages her head back down onto his shoulder. “Are you cold?” he asks, groping for blankets.

She helps him pull them up over them. “We shouldn’t sleep now,” she says, but her closed eyes say otherwise.

“It is my understanding that pregnant women should get plenty of rest,” he counters, slowly rubbing her back, further lulling her into slumber.

xXx

The polite knock is just loud enough to break into Benvolio’s consciousness. He quickly slides out of bed, taking great care not to wake Rosaline. He tugs on a pair of trousers as he walk-hops to the door, wanting to get to it before a second knock sounds.

“Paolo,” Benvolio says, not terribly surprised to see him standing there.

“Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but… Lord Capulet has come to call,” Paolo says, making a valiant effort to not notice his master’s disheveled and mostly-undressed state. “I did tell him my lady and yourself are indisposed for the duration, but he was quite insistent.”

Benvolio sighs, then says, “I will be down in a moment. Let me put on some fresh clothing.”

“Of course, my lord. Lord Capulet is waiting in the parlor,” Paolo replies. He begins to turn, but then looks back. “Do you have a preference for dinner?”

“Anything will be fine,” Benvolio answers. “I assume you brought everything from the kitchens of the other villa?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I am sure Marcella will prepare us something delicious,” Benvolio says. Paolo gives him a slight bow, then heads off.

Ten minutes later, Benvolio finds Lord Sylvestro Capulet standing by a window in the parlor, looking out over the garden.

“My lord,” Benvolio greets, and Capulet turns.

“My lord,” he echoes. His eyes briefly flit around, looking behind Benvolio for a sign that Rosaline will be joining them.

“Rosaline is sleeping, and I am inclined to let her continue,” Benvolio explains. “Is there something with which I can help you?”

“I wished to invite you both to my villa for dinner, figuring your household may not be set up yet, but… I can see that I was mistaken,” Capulet answers gesturing around at the room, which appears to be spotlessly clean and mostly appointed. “You are both still welcome to join me though. There are some things I think we should discuss,” he adds.

“Thank you, but could we perhaps postpone until tomorrow? Rosaline and I have been through quite the ordeal and wish to keep our own company this evening,” Benvolio replies.

“Oh! Of course, of course, of course you have,” Lord Capulet says. “How foolish of me to not think… You’re right, you need to rest and settle in. Is tomorrow too soon? We can push it to the day after, or even next week…”

Benvolio can’t help smiling, but it is a sad smile, as he realizes how hard his new uncle-in-law is trying and how lonely he must be. “Tomorrow will be perfect, thank you,” he says. “What things do you think need discussing?”

“This new alliance between our families, mainly,” Capulet answers. “I want you to know that I will fully support you in your new station, Benvolio. I may not have… wealth… but I do still have some shreds of power left in this God-forsaken city, and in spite of everything, I believe I am still well-respected.”

“You are still quite respected, my lord,” Benvolio assures him. “And I thank you for your support.”

Capulet smiles. “I am the one who should be thankful,” he says. “I’ve been nothing but a complacent old fool for too long. But I assure you, I have seen the error of my ways and will not repeat them. I should have started thinking for myself long before Giuliana died.”

“Well, yes, but better late then never, I guess,” Benvolio replies, not really sure what to say. He wants to be done with this conversation and get back up to Rosaline. “Thank you for calling on us, and thank you once again for finally breaking your silence about my father,” he says, hoping he’ll taking the hint.

“It was long overdue,” Capulet says, taking a step towards the door. “Tomorrow then,” he confirms.

“Yes. We will be there,” Benvolio replies, ushering the older man towards the front door.

Lord Capulet nods, then walks towards the exit, where a servant opens the door for him.

As soon as it is closed again, Benvolio jogs back up to their room.

“Thank you…” Rosaline’s voice is clear and alert as it reaches Benvolio’s ears.

“Enrica, my lady.”

“Thank you, Enrica,” she replies. He waits outside, just in case the maidservant is helping his wife dress. He doesn’t want to mortify the young girl.

“Oh, no, my lady, thank you,” Enrica answers. “All of us who came here are very grateful. Grateful we still have jobs, and…”

“Yes?” Rosaline prompts. “You may speak freely, it’s all right.”

“We are grateful to not have to work for that awful old Lord Montague,” she says, quieter. Benvolio nearly has to press his ear to the door to hear her. “Young Lord Montague was always good to us, and even if Paolo hadn’t assured us that you were very kind, we could all see it, my lady. I promise you that every one of us here is happy to be here. Away from _him._ ”

“I am glad,” Rosaline replies. “We want you to be happy here.” A moment later, Benvolio hears, “Benvolio, I know you’re lurking out there. You may come in.”

He opens the door and walks in, smiling a little sheepishly. “How did you know I was there?”

“I could see your shadow in the crack of the door,” she explains, pointing to the space beneath the bottom edge of the door and the floor. “When it lingered, I assumed it was yours.”

He walks towards her and kisses her forehead. “My clever Capulet,” he murmurs. “You look beautiful.” She is dressed in one of her blue gowns, simple yet elegant. Blue is an excellent color on her, but he cannot help thinking she should have some more colors in her wardrobe than Capulet blue.

“Thank you. Where were you?” she asks. Then, remembering the maidservant, she says, “Thank you Enrica.”

“My lady, my lord.” Enrica bobs a curtsey and leaves.

Benvolio notices the baths have been cleared away as well. “Your uncle came to call. He has invited us to dinner tomorrow night,” he answers.

“Tomorrow?” she repeats, looking less than thrilled by the prospect.

“He originally wanted to invite us tonight, but I told him we wished to rest,” he answers. Then he goes on to detail the rest of the conversation.

“Goodness,” she remarks, just as surprised and impressed as he was. She sits on the bed, and he gestures for her to scoot onto the bed more fully. When she does, he joins her, lying with his head on her lap.

“Mmm, yes. This is where I belong,” he says with a contented sigh.

“You’re going to have to share that lap in a few months,” she points out, running her fingers into his hair.

“I will gladly share,” he says.


	11. Chapter 11

A year and a half later.

“Are you ready yet?” Benvolio asks, walking into the nursery.

“Almost,” Rosaline replies. “Tell Daddy we just need another minute to make sure we are suitably beautiful before we leave,” she says to the cherubic 10-month-old currently waving her arms in excitement at the sight of her father.

“Oh, well, that’s certainly worth the wait,” he says, lifting his daughter off of the low, flat dresser they use as a changing table. “Though my girls are _always_ beautiful,” he adds, kissing her soft, round cheek. Then he turns and places a much more lingering kiss on his wife’s lips.

“Da,” little Juliet interrupts, and Benvolio’s eyebrows raise in hopeful surprise. A moment later, his expression falls when she continues on with a string of other garbled syllables.

“Oh well,” he sighs.

Rosaline laughs, checking her appearance in the mirror. “She’ll get there, don’t worry,” she says. “Our Juliet is a smart girl.”

Benvolio kisses his daughter once more, smoothing the unruly sandy-colored curls haloing her head. She gurgles at him through her plump lips, causing a few spit bubbles to collect there. He absently wipes them away as he smiles down at her, and is rewarded with the full attention of her large, brown eyes and a damp hand on his cheek.

“Are you ready to go see your great-uncle?” he asks, catching her light brown hand in his. He kisses it, then blows raspberries against her palm, making her laugh.

“Should we go bye-bye?” Rosaline translates. The sight of her husband, a formerly hot-headed young man who was always ready to fight, sweetly doting on their infant daughter will never get old. Perhaps in compensation for his own cruel upbringing, he is an excellent and attentive father, always more than willing to do anything for his daughter, including changing her soiled diapers and burping her after feedings.

Juliet flaps her arms and babbles once more, bouncing in her father’s arms.

“I think that’s a yes. Come, Marco is waiting,” Benvolio says.

“It boggles my mind how much she likes my uncle,” Rosaline comments on the way over to the Capulet villa.

“Well, she never had the version of him you did,” Benvolio reasons. “I do wonder what your aunt would have made of her.”

“Ugh, I don’t even want to think about that,” she replies. “She would hate that we named her after Juliet.”

“You think?”

“I know. She would consider it an insult instead of an honor, for no other reason than the fact that she’s _my_ daughter.”

“She was really awful, wasn’t she?” he asks, but it is more of a statement than a question. As per usual in the carriage, Juliet has fallen asleep in his arms, and he shifts a bit to try to get more comfortable.

Rosaline simply nods. “I sometimes think it is a pity she killed herself,” she absently says. At her husband’s puzzled look, she explains, “Before she could be made to answer for her crimes, I mean.”

“Oh, yes. Right,” he says.

“Your uncle could have a cellmate,” she wryly jokes.

“Oh. Speaking of which, he’s ill. The princess told me yesterday after the Council meeting. Slipped my mind by the time I got home because someone distracted me,” he says.

“Oh is that so? _I_ distracted _you_? You were the one who practically tore my dress off when you learned Juliet had only just gone down for her nap,” she protests.

“I have no recollection of that detail,” he poorly lies.

She snorts. “Anyway. In what way is he ill?” she asks. “Should we send Livia to—”

“No,” he interjects. “He’s got…” he pauses, glancing down to make sure his daughter is still sleeping, “Cupid’s Disease. Nothing for it.”

“Where did he catch that?” she asks. “He’s been alone in his cell for over a year now, and he gets no visitors.”

“He must have already had it. It’s just getting bad now due to his living conditions,” he answers. “He was never very choosy about his partners.”

“Not like you,” she counters, raising a saucy eyebrow at him.

“I will have you know—”

She holds up her hand. “I do not wish to know. If you had any of… _those_ diseases, you would have told me long before now.” The _you better have, anyway_ is unspoken, but very clear in her tone.

“Well, yes, of course. I likely wouldn’t have married you if I had anything like that,” he says, grateful he didn’t have to go into any more detail about his past. Rosaline doesn’t wish to hear about it (or doesn’t care) and it no long matters, so he wishes to simply put it behind him.

The coach comes to a stop, and Marco appears a moment later to open the door.

Livia runs to greet them, exuberantly hugging her sister. She merely smiles at Benvolio, not wishing to wake her sleeping niece. Livia surprised everyone when she returned to Verona, defying the prince’s orders and choosing to return to her uncle’s house. Rosaline had written how he had been striving to mend his ways, and he even wrote to Livia himself several times.

When she came home, Lord Capulet not only welcomed her, but handed over control of the household to her and allowed her to use part of the spacious villa to see patients.

Everyone had thought Capulet House would die out, but it seems to be not only surviving but thriving, and Lady Livia is now considered by many to be the true head of the House.

“Come in, come in,” Livia says, ushering them inside. “Dinner is nearly ready, so you are just in time.”

“And you were so worried,” Rosaline teases, looking over at Benvolio.

“I do not like being late,” he counters, smiling because he now knows he gets his obsessive need for punctuality from his father.

“I know, Beloved,” she replies, absently patting the hand not supporting their sleeping daughter. “She’s drooling on your shoulder,” she adds.

“Not the first time; won’t be the last,” he merely says.

“Ah! There’s my favorite—” Lord Capulet cuts off his loud exclamation when he sees Juliet is sleeping. “Oh. Asleep again, I see.”

“You know she always falls asleep in the carriage,” Rosaline says, stepping towards her uncle. She kisses him on the cheek and says, “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, Rosaline,” he replies. “And thank you for the lovely gift. I spent all morning in the garden, watching the birds bathe,” he chuckles.

“We’re glad you enjoy it,” she replies.

“I was skeptical of the gift choice, I will admit,” Benvolio comments. “Though I’ve no idea why; my Rosaline is rarely wrong.”

Capulet nods in agreement, and Rosaline says, “I’ve no idea why you keep forgetting that.”

Lord Capulet chuckles and little Juliet suddenly lifts her head, apparently brought into wakefulness by the sound of her great-uncle’s laughter.

“There’s my girl,” Capulet says, beaming down at the infant. She blinks a few times, then beams up at him.

“Would you like to see Uncle?” Benvolio asks. “I bet he’d like a kiss for his birthday.”

Lord Capulet holds out his hands, letting her decide if she wants to come to him or not. He knows she is often clingy when first awake, so when she buries her head in her father’s neck, he does not take offense. He merely strokes her hair and says, “Perhaps later. Come, my luncheon feast is waiting.”

They all walk into the dining room, chatting companionably. Once Juliet is settled in her chair, Benvolio pulls out Rosaline’s seat for her.

“Are you going to tell them?” he whispers in her ear as he pushes it in.

“Maybe after lunch,” she replies, chuckling and patting his cheek when he pouts.

“It’s getting hard to keep it quiet,” he says.

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Livia asks, giving them a suspicious look.

“Nothing of import,” Rosaline breezily replies, convincing no one.

“Right,” Livia pronounces, then, while the servants are setting out the plates, she gives her sister a long, hard look. Her gaze pointedly drops to Rosaline’s stomach, then to Juliet, and finally, back to her face.

Rosaline merely raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of her water, leaving her wine untouched, smiling about the fact that Benvolio will soon have yet another person with whom to share her lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cupid’s Disease is an archaic term for Syphilis.


End file.
